


Maine Event

by amythis



Series: Margaret And Somehow Hawkeye [2]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Hawkeye Pierce, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 13:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 31,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13459353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amythis/pseuds/amythis
Summary: Sequel to "The Wrong Sin": Portland is a six-hour drive from Crabapple Cove.





	1. Cafeteria

Their reunion wasn't how he pictured it, and he had pictured it many times. The settings changed but there was always that rush into each other's arms, holding each other tight, kissing that verged on necking, and maybe even a little crying, or at least misty eyes. Something intense, but nothing was as intense as it was in Korea. Most of the time, he was grateful for that, but just then it was a letdown.

She'd worn a variety of clothing in those imaginary reunions, from a ski outfit (Vermont) to a bikini (Hawaii). Somehow he never imagined her in her most characteristic attire: nurse's scrubs, with her blonde hair pulled back. Of course, her looking professional didn't exactly kill his arousal, but his erection was mostly mental, like it usually was with her.

She was sitting in the corner, reading a medical file, as if this was a working lunch. He probably could've turned around and left, called her later with some lie about a last-minute emergency, made vague plans to get together some other time. They didn't have to reunite, or at least not like this. They could wait until Peg organized something for the whole 4077th and families. Margaret would probably prefer that. He might, too.

Then Margaret looked up with those always intense blue eyes and mouthed, "Hawkeye!" As if his arrival here in Portland General Hospital's cafeteria was a complete surprise, rather than at her admittedly reluctant invitation. Her spoken "Pierce" was brisk if not brusque.

"So, Margaret, what do you recommend?" he asked as he came over to her table. "The Jell-O? The fish sticks? The Tuesday Surprise?"

"It's all equally good."

"And equally bad?" Instead of getting in line and ordering from the civilian equivalent of Igor Straminsky, he took the chair across from her and sat down. "Hello."

"Hi."

He remembered the intensity and awkwardness of Crabapple Cove's high school cafeteria, where there were only one hundred students total, and definitely a less than 50% chance of getting together with a girl. He didn't become a lady's man until college, but he could always make girls laugh. Margaret was very much a woman and always a challenge, in every regard. But he treasured the times he'd made her laugh, especially when she really let herself go.

He now strove for something witty to say, to crack her professional facade, but he was coming up blank. He thought of her in her post-coital infatuated phase, confessing that sometimes in the OR his wisecracks made her laugh behind her surgical mask.

She was the next to speak. "How was your drive?"

"Long but nice." It was six hours from Crabapple Cove to Portland. "I saw a lot of Fall foliage. And Fool feeliage. And possibly Calvin Coolidge."

"Coolidge is dead."

"Sorry, I meant Herbert Hoover. The roads were lined with brown, red, orange, and yellow Hall Hooliage."

That earned a slight uptick in the corners of what he recalled as very hot lips, despite her cool demeanor. But she said only, "I'm glad you had a pleasant drive."

"Thank you. Interesting file?"

She shut the folder. "A complicated case."

"Do you want my professional opinion on it?"

"No, sorry. I shouldn't even be looking at it in the cafeteria. I just can't stop thinking about it."

"Look, Margaret, if this is a bad time, I can come back." The next time he had twelve or more hours to spare.

"I'm sorry, Pierce. It's just we're short-staffed right now. This lunch was the only time I could see you. But I do have a two-day weekend coming up."

"Two whole days! Is it Arbor Day already?"

"I think that's in April. But I'm off weekend after next if you want to visit."

"What and miss Oktoberfest? The two dozen German Crabapplians put on a hell of a show."

She shook her head. "I knew this was a bad idea. I tried to explain to Peg on the phone that, while I appreciated her sending me everyone's home addresses, Maine isn't as small a state as she imagined."

"It is compared to California," he said quietly, thinking of his own call to Mill Valley. It was the first time he'd heard B.J.'s voice since their return, although they had of course written many letters, becoming eager correspondents with each other rather than with Hawkeye's dad and B.J.'s wife.

They never directly referred to what they'd shared emotionally and physically during the war. It was partly that they didn't want someone stumbling across the letters. Hawkeye had the feeling that his father would be as accepting as always, but it probably would've shattered Peg if she knew. It'd been Hawkeye who had advised B.J. to not tell his wife about the two heterosexual slips off the fidelity wagon, and what the two men had together meant a lot more, even if they'd done a lot less physically than B.J. had with Lt. Carrie Donovan.

Hawkeye hadn't yet contacted Trapper, but he had the feeling that Louise McIntyre would take any fooling around Trap did in Korea, even with Hawkeye, in stride. Or she might get mad, but she wouldn't leave Trap over it.

"Trapper is the type of guy you fool around with, and I'm the type of guy you marry," B.J. had once dryly joked.

"Too bad you're already taken."

Hawkeye and B.J. hadn't "fooled around." They'd hugged and kissed, nuzzled and cuddled. And they'd bared their souls to each other dozens of times. Hawkeye didn't know how he would've survived the war, emotionally or physically, if not for B.J. There were others who'd helped— Potter, Radar, Sidney, Father Mulcahy, and, yes, Margaret— but no one like B.J.

"Go see her, Hawk. You know you want to."

In some ways, B.J. knew him better than he knew himself. Hawkeye did want to see Margaret, but not like this.

B.J. added, "She's got that job in Portland now. The same state you live in."

"Yeah, thanks. I got all A's in Geography in high school."

"Then you can find your way there."

It was easy to get away. He'd rejoined his father's practice and Dad was more than willing for Hawkeye to go see "an old Army buddy." He just had to lie about which buddy that was.

"Give my regards to Trapper John and tell him he and the wife and kids are welcome to visit any time."

Hawkeye had nodded and waved goodbye. The funny thing was, Winchester had seen Trapper. They were both from Boston after all, but different neighborhoods. The Winchesters would never invite the McIntyres to the Back Bay. But the uninhibited captain had crossed paths professionally a few times with the very inhibited major. They'd both written to Hawkeye about it, the only letters he'd received from either in Crabapple Cove. Both letters were hilariously written, and Hawkeye had quoted heavily from them in his next letter to B.J.

"Is it really 'Crabapplians'?" Margaret asked.

"No, it's 'Crabapple Covers.' Spelled the same as the covers of a book, but pronounced differently."

"Oh. It's funny, from all your stories, I can picture that little town more clearly than some places I've lived." She didn't add that she was an Army brat, but of course he knew that, and a lot more about her childhood.

"How many days do you get off for Thanksgiving?"

"Four."

"Do you want to spend at least one of them in that little town?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, for a change."

"But holidays are for families."

"You're part of my MASH family. And I know my dad would love to have you."

"Like father, like son?"

He'd forgotten that sometimes she could make him laugh really hard.


	2. Magnets

Margaret had thought about driving to Crabapple Cove, since that would give her more independence. But it was a six-hour drive and she was tired from work all the time. So she took the bus as far as Presque Isle. Pierce would drive her to his hometown from there.

She'd asked him where exactly Crabapple Cove was, and he said, "In the glans." Leave it to Pierce to compare Maine to a penis. (She supposed that made New Brunswick a vagina.) He couldn't just say that his town was in the northern tip of the state, and so now she couldn't look at a road map without blushing. This was the other reason she decided not to drive.

She could've just not gone. But Peg said, "You know you want to."

Her friendship with Peg had surprised her, but not Peg. "I feel like I already know you from B.J.'s letters. And we're both named Margaret, although only my grandfather calls me that."

Margaret had never, Hot Lips aside, been nicknamed. No Peg, Peggy, Meg, Maggie, etc. It wouldn't have suited her. She and Peg were very different, had led different lives. But they both loved B.J.

Margaret's love was sort of sisterly. She admired B.J. but saw his flaws. She especially loved him for helping Hawkeye to grow up, which might sound funny to say about a man in his 30s, but it was true. Hawkeye still sometimes acted like he was a teenager, but that was part of his charm. And he could be a strong, reliable man when he had to be.

It was harder to admit that she loved Hawkeye, because the limits were fuzzier. Love for Hawkeye could include just about anything, and that scared her. It didn't help that he'd once pushed her away when she was at her most vulnerable.

She'd tried to put up a shell a couple months ago in the hospital cafeteria, but that made her a challenge. He was always more attracted to her when she was hard to get. Or maybe this invitation to his father's was just him feeling sorry for a woman who wasn't close to her parents.

"So, he's inviting you to meet his father?" Peg teased.

"It's not like that. He'd invite any of his old Army buddies."

Well, not Frank. She didn't want to see Frank herself, too much bitterness there. Besides, she had changed in Korea, in a different way than Hawkeye. She still believed in hard work and other solid values, but she liked to think she didn't take herself as seriously as she used to. She was more capable of relaxing and having fun.

As she looked out the bus window at the remaining autumn leaves of upstate Maine, she suddenly remembered the red party. She never would've gone along with something like that in her early days in the unit. She certainly wouldn't have admitted to tiring of Army green. But she had finally made up her mind to divorce Donald. Red was not the color of Communism that night, but it was a rebellious color. And she could tell from Hawkeye's grin that he liked her with cherry-colored hair.

It was one of many nights when she thought something might happen between them, but mostly one or both of them put the brakes on. There had been that one night in a hut when they thought the North Koreans might kill them by morning. But without that nothing-left-to-lose freedom, they could never overcome their gut feelings that getting involved would be a mistake, and not like their many other romantic mistakes. They'd lose each other and their peculiar, precious friendship.

Hawkeye had almost from the beginning been the most important person to her at the 4077th, even when she was madly in love with Frank. She hated Pierce then, and yet everything was about him. She was constantly reacting to him. And she was attracted to him in a more complicated way than to Trapper. McIntyre was certainly gorgeous, intelligent, funny, and a fine surgeon. And if she got drunk enough, he would've been fun for one night. But he didn't fascinate her like Hawkeye did. He was a sidekick and Margaret was drawn to power. Hawkeye claimed to hate authority but he could make the whole camp do his bidding, just through his charisma. Margaret tried to resist that, but sometimes she couldn't help being drawn in.

What she eventually realized was that this made her more attractive to him. He met sweeter, prettier, even occasionally smarter women than her. But no one else who could challenge him when necessary, like when he was full of self-pity or arrogance. And he respected her for that, needed her for that, but it seemed to both attract and repulse him. They were like two magnets with fluctuating polarities. 

She hadn't understood all this at the time. It was only when she got some distance that she could be analytical. She hadn't taken the job in Portland because of him but in spite of him. It was the best offer she got and it wasn't like she was down the road from him. He could seek her out if he wanted to, but she'd understand if he didn't.

"Are you in love with Hawkeye?" Peg could be very direct.

Margaret had had very few female confidants, especially the last three years. She would never have talked about this with any of her nurses, particularly since a high percentage had at least necked with Hawkeye. Even to Peg, who swore she'd say nothing to B.J., Margaret could only say, "It's complicated."

Margaret wasn't sure what being in love meant anymore. Not after Frank or Donald or Scully. God, Scully. The old Margaret would never have gotten involved with someone who went AWOL. He wasn't a rebel like Pierce, where there was usually a point to his rebellion. And when she'd tried to look and act soft and feminine for Scully, it wasn't the real her. She could be at her toughest, even bitchiest, with Hawkeye, and it never drove him away.

In fact, it was her clingy and romantic side he seemed to like least. So how would a romance even work with them?

Yet she was going to his father's for Thanksgiving. She didn't imagine Daniel Pierce would be much of a chaperone, but this would be different than spending a long weekend alone with Hawkeye. She had more curiosity than expectations. She'd just let the weekend play out however it would, trying not to be either a stick-in-the-mud or a pushover.

Pierce was waiting for her at the Presque Isle bus station, leaning against a 1931 Pierce-Arrow, reading _Catcher in the Rye,_ and wearing his old straw cowboy hat from the beginning of the war.

"Hawkeye," she breathed.

He looked up and grinned.


	3. Arrow

"Dad, can I have the keys to the car?" For a moment, Hawkeye felt like time had rolled back fifteen years, to when he wasn't much more than fifteen. FDR was President, like he had been and would be forever. There was no war that America needed to concern itself with. And the little Crabapple Cove Cinema only showed black and white movies in 2D.

"What's wrong with your car?"

Hawkeye remembered he was an adult, still young, but prematurely aged by three very long years of war. He lived with his father again, but as equals.

"Come on, you know the PA is the most beautiful car in town." Hawkeye still remembered the day his father brought it home. It was just the two of them by then. The Depression was slowly seeping into their isolated little town. Some people couldn't pay their medical bills, but Dr. Daniel Pierce made enough to get by, and he couldn't resist a car with a name he shared. The Pierce-Arrow was in good shape after more than twenty years and Hawkeye knew it would make a hell of an impression.

Not that he had to impress Margaret. He just had to show up on time. After all, for three years he hadn't driven anything snazzier than a Jeep.

"Ah, you want to impress your old Army buddy."

Hawkeye wondered how perceptive his father was. When he told his dad that he'd invited Margaret Houlihan for Thanksgiving, he waited for the questions, including why. But Dad just said, "The more the merrier."

It'd been just the two of them for years, and then just his dad in '50, '51, and '52. Neighbors had invited "Old Dr. Pierce" over, not just the widows, but he always said, "Thank you very much, but I'm waiting for my boy to come home."

Meanwhile, Hawkeye and Trapper had thrown a Come as Your Favorite Nude Pilgrim Party (they allowed hats), Klinger gave them all salmonella poisoning with a dubious turkey, and Hawkeye treated a wounded soldier whose buddies were killed while he was getting seconds at an early Thanksgiving dinner that their CO threw them. Margaret was one of the few people who had been around for all his wartime holiday madness, although not always on his side.

He expected this Thanksgiving to be quieter, saner. His father was a good cook and Hawkeye imagined Margaret didn't get much home cooking. She lived alone and seemed to rely mostly on the hospital cafeteria. He had the impression that she didn't cook much herself. She wasn't "feminine" in the way Peg Hunnicutt was, although in some ways she was all woman.

He didn't know if anything romantic would happen with them. He didn't know if he wanted that, or if she did either. When he kissed her goodbye back in July, it was supposed to be forever, even if she had replied to his "So long" with "See ya." It was a kiss that summed up three years of desire and confusion and quarreling and fondness, a kiss that he hoped she'd remember all her life, because he was pretty sure he would. And it was just as complex and enthusiastic on her side.

But the war and the kiss both ended. He and Margaret went their separate ways. For a shorter while than they'd expected. To some extent, they were reunited by Fate, but it also took some effort on both sides. She was taking the long bus ride to Presque Isle, and he was driving to meet her.

"Yeah, my buddy loves vintage cars."

"OK, take it. But wear a hat and sweater."

"Thanks, Dad." His sweater was knitted by one of the neighborhood widows and sent to him as "our boy overseas." It'd of course arrived in one of the sweltering Korean summers. As for the hat, he took his old straw cowboy hat from the beginning of the war. It could be a symbol of the immature, fun-loving Hawkeye that Hot Lips felt hate at first sight for, but he thought of it more as a symbol of the beginning of everything. And certainly by the time of her pregnancy scare, he was her best friend at the 4077th even if still sometimes her worst enemy.

He'd thought, looking back on the flight home, that that was the middle of their relationship. Now that there wasn't a clear ending, he wasn't sure what the middle was anymore. But the beginning would always be the beginning.

He suddenly thought of Churchill saying, "Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning." That was eleven Novembers ago, and definitely not the end of World War II, especially for the Americans, who'd been in less than a year at that point. Hawkeye remembered being a college student, pre-Med of course, feeling guilty that he wasn't signing up like some of the boys back in Crabapple Cove, but hating war and wanting to heal rather than kill. What was Margaret doing in '42? Was she in the military yet? He was sure she was eager to go overseas, but maybe she was still getting her nurse's training then. He could picture her, her eyes shining with military righteousness, back when the enemy was clearly evil. Before she grew up and learned that life is usually more complicated.

He took along the paperback of _Catcher in the Rye_ that he was slowly working his way through. It'd been published a couple years earlier, and he'd been aware of it for awhile, but only now in Crabapple Cove did he have time for leisure reading more complex than nudie magazines. (He'd had his subscriptions forwarded from Korea. His father didn't care, and it wasn't like Hawkeye was still a teenager and had to hide the magazines under his mattress.) He knew he'd have loved this novel as a teenager, identified with the idealistic yet cynical hero. Reading it in his 30s, he winced a little. He knew that at the 4077th he had struck some people as self-righteous and overbearing. He saw a little too much of himself in Holden Caulfield, good and bad. That was why he wasn't reading more quickly. But he took the book along, just in case he got to Presque Isle early and had to kill time.

He did get there before Margaret and he wondered if she might've changed her mind. Not that he had any reason for thinking that she had, other than her ambivalence about him and the situation. Oh, well, he'd wait awhile longer. It was crisp and clear, and his sweater was warm.

He heard the bus pull in but he didn't run over to greet her. He tried to act cool and casual. But then he heard her walking over and he couldn't help it, he looked up and grinned.

He remembered them reaching out and grabbing each other for the goodbye kiss, but he couldn't do it for hello. Not when they'd have a long awkward car ride after that.

"My, don't you look boyish."

"Thank you," he said, although he couldn't tell if it was a compliment. He remembered all her remarks about his immaturity, like the last Halloween in Korea, when he "fell in love" with her geisha costume. But she must've guessed he'd react like that.

She was bundled up now, but he could see she was wearing slacks. He'd probably get no glimpse of her legs that weekend, unless she dressed up for Thanksgiving dinner.

"You look...warm."  


She shrugged. "I didn't know if the bus would be heated."

"My car isn't. But we can pull over to the side of the road and make our own heat if we need to."

"I'll keep that in mind."

He grinned again. He used to, especially in the beginning, flirt with her like he was all three Marx Brothers (never Zeppo), and she was Margaret Dumont in Thelma Todd's body. It was mostly to irritate her, but gradually, as they became friends, it was more playful than hostile. One of the rules of the game was she was never supposed to call his bluff.

That One Night was different. They were deadly serious, and only partly because they might die. Dammit, why did his brain give That One Night capitals? He'd been with so many women he'd lost track, and maybe a half dozen he'd genuinely been in love with. What was it about Margaret that was different? Well, besides everything.

She slowly walked around the car, seeming to observe all its features appreciatively. "She's beautiful, Hawkeye."

"Thank you. She belongs to my dad."

"And what do you drive?"

"A Model T."

The marvelous surprised Houlihan laugh. He grinned again and then opened the passenger door and helped her onto the running board. Then he put her bag in the backseat.

There were some awkward silences on the drive, but talking about their mutual friends helped. Not just B.J. but Radar and Charles and the three who had ended up at General General in Hannibal, Missouri. Colonel Potter found himself too restless to retire, and he was soon joined by Father Mulcahy, who'd had an operation to restore his hearing, and Klinger, who of course brought along his war bride. Hawkeye suddenly remembered Margaret catching the bouquet, and there was another awkward silence, until he told her about Trapper and Charles's letters about each other.

Margaret laughed a lot and then smiled when she said, "I bet Trapper thought you were crazy inviting stern Major Houlihan over for Thanksgiving."

"I haven't told him yet."

Another awkward silence. Trap would think he was crazy though. Hawkeye had simply written in his letters from Korea that Hot Lips wasn't so bad after Frank left. He never told Trap about That One Night. Trap would've wanted to know if she was a good lay. They'd idly speculated on it more than once, with Trap taking the pro position as it happened.

"Look, she's got all those horny old generals panting to get into her khaki panties. And we know she's given Frank a terminal hard-on. There must be something there."

"But would she satisfy a normal man?"

"If there were any normal men at the 4077th, we could ask one."

"What I mean is, the operative word in your theory is khaki. She may please the war-mongering demographic, but what about peaceful souls like ourselves? "

"Hawk, one thing we are not is peaceful."

"But neither are we Army."

"Ah. Point taken." Trapper clinked his martini glass against Hawkeye's. "But maybe after a night with one of us, she'd stop worshipping Mars and more warmly embrace Venus."

"You can't embrace Venus. She doesn't have any arms."

"And if she took up arms, she wouldn't be peaceful."

They riffed their way off of the topic of Hot Lips' hotness until they were drunk and in bed together.

"What are you smiling about?" Margaret now asked from the other side of the front seat.

"Oh, just thinking about the past."


	4. Craftsman

"Can I do anything to help?" Margaret offered, even though she wasn't particularly domestic. She wanted to be a good guest.

The older Dr. Pierce shook his head and said, "No, after your long bus ride and then the car ride, you should either rest up or go stretch your legs."

She didn't know if that was his advice as a doctor or as a host. She hadn't yet seen the guest room. Hawkeye had carried her bag upstairs while she stayed in the kitchen and chatted with his father, who was checking on the turkey. They'd come in the back door, so she hadn't yet seen any of the other rooms in the 1910 Craftsman cottage that the Pierces lived in. When Hawkeye pulled up, she let out a little gasp at the slightly chipped olive green paint, the porch with its plain white pillars, the squares and the triangles. It wasn't nostalgia, because she'd never lived anywhere like this. But when she was an Army brat, moving from town to town, base to base, this was the sort of house she'd see from cars and trains and feel a longing for. A solidity and friendliness that were unattainable and almost exotic to that skinny, lonely little girl with the freckles and stubby blonde pigtails.

"It looks like my dad," Hawkeye said as he drove around to the back. And when they went inside, she understood. His father had olive green eyes and white hair, and he seemed to made up of squares and triangles. There was the same solid friendliness about him when he asked, "Are hugs OK?" She nodded and let him briefly but warmly wrap his arms around her. He was shorter and fatter than his son, but the smile was similar.

"I'd like to go for a walk," she said now.

"Good idea. Hawkeye can take you down to the lake."

It was strange to finally meet the man who had named and then nicknamed Benjamin Franklin Pierce. She had read _The Last of the Mohicans_ since her return from Korea, and she knew that the character's real name was Natty Bumppo, which sounded like a lost Marx Brother. The nickname was a strange choice really, considering that the original Hawkeye was a warrior skilled in the use of many weapons, while the Hawkeye she knew and maybe loved was a fervent pacifist who had hated the couple times he had to carry a gun. And yet, the nickname suited him, because he was one of the bravest, and most argumentative, men she had ever met.

Also, the first Hawkeye had guided two sisters into the wilderness of eighteenth-century New York, while "her Hawkeye" would lead her through the wilds of Crabapple Cove. "I'd like that," she softly told his father.

"It's more of a pond," the younger Dr. Pierce said as he came downstairs.

His father whistled something that took her a moment to identify as "How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm after they've seen Paree?" She laughed as she understood. The song was from World War I, a war both her father and Hawkeye's had fought in, but her father stayed in the Army, while young Danny Pierce, she knew from his son, had been eager to come back to Crabapple Cove. Margaret wasn't sure if Hawkeye had been as eager, if he missed Korea, or at least three-day passes to Seoul, but he had definitely gone home as soon as he could, having stayed at the 4077th longer than anybody but her and Klinger. (And Klinger had lingered, helping his bride find her refugee family, before heading to Hannibal.)

"Oh, yes, all bodies of water look tiny to me since seeing the Pacific."

Instead of teasing Hawkeye about that, his father asked, "Did you put her in Sarah's room?"

"Of course, Dad." Hawkeye put his straw hat back on, although it couldn't have been very warm. "We won't be long."

He led Margaret outside and she shut the door. He started heading down a path into the woods and she followed.

She waited until the path widened and she caught up with him before she asked, "Who's Sarah?"

"My sister," he said quietly.

"Oh." She remembered at the beginning of the war, he spoke of his mother and sister as if they were alive, but as the months passed, it sounded more like they'd both died a long time ago.

It wasn't until Margaret and Hawkeye were standing at the edge of a large pond or a tiny lake, the gray sky and the naked trees reflected in it, that they spoke again. He said, "It's a game we play, or used to. Mom and Sarah never died. Sarah grew up, got married, had three kids."

"Oh."

"I know that sounds crazy, but it's how we dealt with our grief. I was ten."

"Oh, Hawkeye."

"I wanted to do that with Henry, too. Pretend his flight made it. He's back home with his family. But Trapper wouldn't let me."

"I don't know what to say."

"I know. You know I cracked up at the end. I tried to go crazy to keep from going crazy, but it didn't work. Damn, why am I telling you all this?"

"You don't have Sidney anymore."

"Yeah." He reached for her gloved hand with his bare one, then squeezed. "This isn't why I invited you."

"It was to see this beautiful pond and these lovely woods."

"Right." He swallowed. "I just didn't want you to be confused or frightened by anything my dad says or does."

"I think your father is darling."

"Well, he's no Sherman Potter."

"Few men are."

Their first kiss on American soil felt inevitable but surprisingly relaxed. She wasn't even sure if it was romantic. It may've just been for comfort. But it was sweet and gentle, and she needed it as much as he did.

Afterwards, she expected him to say something about not having invited her for this either. But instead he said, "The sulfa's in the living room."

"What?"

"Do you remember that night we did inventory and we were both tired and silly?"

She hadn't thought of that in months, but she now murmured, "Digitalis?"

"No, I'm keeping it a secret."

She wasn't sure of the connection, but she thought maybe he was saying he liked laughing with her, but he also liked that he could be serious with her, too. Or maybe he meant that this moment by the pond was another secret they shared.

She squeezed his bare hand with her gloved one, and then they let go and made their way through the woods and back to the olive green Craftsman.


	5. Jocularity

"Jocularity, jocularity!"

"Good, Dad, but your voice needs to be slightly higher."

Daniel Pierce stood up at the dinner table and repeated, "Jocularity, jocularity!" in the exact same way. His son chuckled, while their guest laughed helplessly.

The three of them were spending much of Thanksgiving dinner reminiscing about the 4077th. It didn't matter that Dad hadn't actually been there. Hawkeye's letters had been frequent and detailed, especially about the lighter moments. And the Father Mulcahy sound-alike contest had been one of Dad's favorite stories.

He sat down again. "More turkey? Or anything else?"

"Thanks, Dad, but I'm stuffed."

"Me, too," Margaret said, "but thank you."

The widows had dropped off food while Hawkeye was picking up Margaret. Dad didn't do all this alone, and never had. There was more than enough food for two people, or three.

"Well, then, _The Lone Ranger_ or _Dinah Shore_?" Dad looked at their guest.

"Uh, I'm not much of a TV viewer," she said.

Hawkeye wasn't really either. There wasn't much TV to watch when he left in '50. No one even loved Lucy yet. Dad still listened to the radio. But he bought a television after it became clear that the police action wasn't going to be over in a few months. He wrote to Hawkeye that it made the house seem less empty. And by the time his son returned, he was a regular viewer.

" _Lone Ranger_ it is."

When they were all settled in the living room, Dad said, "I love how even the toughest problems are solved in half an hour, a full hour tops. Imagine if real life was like television!"

On some level he meant it, but Dad also mocked what he watched, especially _The Lone Ranger._ "Why doesn't Tonto get more credit? And is this 'masked man' nonsense like Clark Kent's glasses?" Meanwhile, Hawkeye let the black and white flickering images lull him as much as the tryptophan.

Margaret turned in early, apologizing for her sleepiness.

"You work hard and we overfed you. Hawk, go show her which room is Sarah's."

Margaret still hadn't been upstairs and Hawkeye was willing enough to go, if he could pry himself off the thirty-year-old reupholstered couch. But she said, "Thank you, but I'll figure it out. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sleep well, Margaret."

"Goodnight," Hawkeye said quietly. As usual with her, he wasn't sure what was going on. What had happened at the pond hadn't exactly cleared things up.

After she went upstairs, he expected his father to talk about her. He imagined the whole conversation, with Dad saying things like, "She's a good woman," and "Don't let this one go, Son." But his father just kept up his sarcastic running commentary, particularly during _Dragnet._ Only _You Bet Your Life_ was spared, because Dad worshiped Groucho.

"Would you spill your guts to a couple of staccato-talking, unemotional cops?"

"Nah, too much like Colonel Flagg."

His father chuckled and then said, "It's good to see you with someone from over there."

"I thought over there was in Europe. Asia might be yonder."

Dad didn't laugh this time. "Don't feel you have to spend the whole time with me. You two are free to talk about the war without me around."

"I like having you around."

"As you should. I'm colorful old coot. But I know what it's like to go through an experience, especially a war, with someone. And she was the only one there the whole time."

"Yeah. Well, and Klinger."

"She's a lot prettier than Klinger. Although not as fashionable."

Hawkeye had to laugh. Margaret hadn't changed for dinner, or even unpacked. Not that he minded really, but it would've been something to see her in one of Klinger's dresses, maybe with matching hat, shoes, and gloves.

"What do you want to watch at 9:30? _Big Town_ or _Ford Theatre_?"

"Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln...?" Hawkeye murmured absent-mindedly, but his father laughed this time. "You know, I think I'll turn in early, Dad."

"OK, goodnight, Hawk."

He left his father lit by the glow of the set and headed upstairs. He didn't know if Margaret was really asleep. He decided to knock, although he wasn't exactly sure what he'd say if she answered.

He lightly tapped on Sarah's door.

"Yes?"

"Do you, do you need anything? Like an extra blanket or something?"

"I'm fine, but thank you for asking."

"Of course. Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Hawkeye."

He hesitated and then went into the next room, where a heavy dinner and an evening of television couldn't immediately bring a peaceful sleep.


	6. Busman

"I'll take this shift, Dad," Hawkeye said, reaching for his coat.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Can I go with you?" Margaret asked.

"It's your day off. Well, one of them."

"Take her, Son. A good nurse is hard to find."

Hawkeye smiled a little. "OK, I'll go warm up the car." He headed out the front door.

It was the day after Thanksgiving, and the Doctors Pierce kept getting calls about stomach aches and even food poisoning, which Daniel said was typical of the holidays in Crabapple Cove. It seemed so benign after Portland, not to mention the 4077th.

There wasn't all that much for her to do with these cases, but Hawkeye's patients seemed to enjoy the novelty of her presence. She supposed it might start harmless rumors, although Hawkeye introduced her simply as his nurse friend Miss Houlihan who was having a busman's holiday.

They'd taken Hawkeye's car, a blue 1948 Packard which he bought slightly used a few months before he left for Korea. It was a good, reliable vehicle, looking sleek and modern, almost futuristic, next to his father's car, but she preferred the glamour of the Pierce-Arrow.

"If you want, I'll borrow the PA tomorrow and we can go for a little drive in the country."

She was tempted, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to be alone with him for so long. Even if all they did was talk, she was hesitant to start anything serious. Or to find out that there would never be anything serious. For now, spending most of their time quietly with his father was the most she could handle.

"Thank you but it's novelty enough for me to just sit and not do much."

"Well, I don't want you to get bored."

"I'm not bored. And I liked seeing what you're like as a civilian doctor." His patients, not just the elderly ones, treated him like he was still the real doctor's son, fresh out of medical school. If any of them hesitated to take what he prescribed, he'd say that it was what Old Dr. Pierce recommended.

He didn't seem to mind being treated like a kid. She knew him as the star surgeon. This was a humbler, more patient Hawkeye, and she liked it, although part of her missed her arrogant nemesis.

He shook his head. "I was always a civilian. Just like you're always Army."

"Is that how you see me?" She thought of Donald telling his mistress that his wife was "sturdy."

"It's not an insult, Margaret. We needed a head nurse like you, especially when Henry was trying to run things. And you relaxed more when Potter came along and you could respect him. You started to distinguish between silly rules and necessary order."

"And you were less of a rebel."

"I guess, yeah. You changed, and Henry and Trapper were gone, and I realized the war wasn't going to be over any time soon. So I grew up a little."

"We're still very different. From each other I mean."

"Vive la différence!" he said in a cheesy French accent, making her laugh.

They dropped the topic for now, but it was a very short drive back to the Craftsman.

"Hey, do you want me to give you a tour of this fair metropolis?"

"Yes, but let's go on foot."

"As you wish, Mademoiselle. We will stroll along ze boulevard to ze Casbah."

She laughed. "You nut!"

He left the Packard in front of his house and then they walked through his hometown. It looked like every small town in the movies, well, the ones set in New England anyway. But Hawkeye personalized it with his anecdotes, like the times he'd been kicked out of the Crabapple Cove Cinema. "...Imagine what I could've done with 3D glasses!"

"There's nothing stopping you from adolescent hijinks." 

"I think I've lost my taste for those," he said with quiet bitterness.

She wanted to take his hand and squeeze it, but they were in public in a small town and she didn't want to start any rumors. So she just said, "Don't lose that side of you completely. I'd miss it."

"You would?" 

"Very much." 

He smiled at her and then said, "You wanna go to the malt shop?"

She smiled and nodded, thinking of all the time they'd spent in the Officers' Club. There wouldn't be any booze, but there would be a jukebox. And maybe they'd defy gossip and dance.


	7. Margie and Ben

"Thank you for everything. I really enjoyed my stay, and it was wonderful to finally meet you."

"You, too, Margie."

Hawkeye turned away so they wouldn't see his grin. His father started calling her that yesterday and she hadn't objected. Hawkeye was pretty sure it was from _My Little Margie,_ a TV show about a scatter-brained young woman nothing like Margaret Houlihan. But his father meant it affectionately rather than insultingly.

Dad now said, "We'll see you at Christmas, won't we?"

"Um, well."

"Dad, she might have plans. Or she might not be able to get the time off work."

"I'll let you know," she said to Hawkeye rather than his father, but it was the older man she hugged. "Take care."

"You, too, Margie."

Hawkeye took her suitcase and led her out to the Packard. They didn't talk at first. He was thinking about how the long weekend had been uneventful on the surface, and yet something had shifted.

"I don't have to come back."

"What?" he said, looking away from the road out of town for a moment. 

"It was sweet of him to ask, but I don't want you two feeling sorry for me. I'm fine on my own for the holidays. Or I could go see my own parents." 

"They're divorced." 

"So? I could do Christmas Eve with my father and Christmas Day with my mother. Or I could fly to Honolulu and see my kid sister." 

He'd forgotten she had a sister, a captain if Hawkeye recalled correctly. "Oh, of course." 

"She just had a baby and I should go see it. Him?" 

"You two must be close." 

"Not everyone is as lucky as you, Pierce, with your perfect father." 

"He's not perfect. You've seen that." 

"He's warm and loving," she said quietly. 

"Margaret, please come back for Christmas. Or Boxing Day if you've got family responsibilities. Dad and I both like having you around." 

"You're not just saying that to spare my feelings?" 

"When have I ever spared your feelings?" 

She laughed a little. "OK, I'll try. If you don't mind the gossip." 

"What gossip?" 

"You're the most eligible bachelor in town." 

"No, that would be Roy who owns the feed store." 

"Ben, what are we doing?" 

The seriousness of her tone, combined with a nickname hardly anyone called him, made him pull over to the side of the road. 

"I'll miss my bus in Presque Isle!" 

"Then I'll drive you to Portland. I'm not having this conversation while driving." 

"Then I'll drive." 

He hit the steering wheel with an open hand. "You are the most infuriating woman I've ever met!" 

"Then why do you want me to come back for Christmas?" 

"I have no goddamn idea!" She looked startled at the swearing but then she laughed. After a moment, he laughed, too. "I don't know what we're doing, or why you called me Ben." 

"I don't either, but it suits you." 

"Really, Margie?" 

"No, that's your father's nickname for me." 

"How did we even get to the point of new nicknames, Hot Lips?" 

She seemed to take the question seriously, because she said, "Our images of each other keep shifting." 

"Well, we're complicated people." 

"So is Charles, but he's always been a pompous snob, except we got to see other sides of him." 

"Yeah, I guess. Margaret, are you asking if there's some kind of romantic future for us?" 

"I don't know. I mean, obviously I can see how different we are. And we're not even each other's type. But there's something about you." 

He swallowed. "Yeah. I mean about you."

"If I keep visiting you, expectations are going to build up."

"I don't care about gossip."

"I mean for your father. Or maybe for the two of us."

"Or we'll just decide it's a friendship and leave it at that."

"We're not in Korea anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"The war always came first. Nothing else was as important. It's hard to know how to act when peace breaks out."

He chuckled, although he knew she wasn't joking. "Yeah, there's not that same sense of urgency. Or larger than life emotions." He restarted the car and got back on the road. "I do like blondes with great bottoms."

"Hawkeye!"

"Well, you said you're not my type."

"I meant personalities."

"Yes, but for a hard ass, you have a very soft ass."

"I know you have an adolescent lust for me. That was never in doubt."

"Well, at least we got that settled." He turned on the radio, hoping it wouldn't play a love song, especially not one from the malt shop a couple days ago, when he'd thought of asking her to dance but then stopped himself, and not just because they'd be at least a decade older than anyone else on that tiled floor. And he didn't want to hear anything they'd ever danced to at the Officers' Club. But it was "How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?"

"The one with the waggely tail," he crooned and then barked.

He caught her rolling her eyes, but she sang along, too. And when she quickly hugged him goodbye as the bus driver honked his horn, she whispered, "You have a nice tush, too, Ben." He had the feeling that he'd see her, although probably not her bottom, for Christmas.


	8. Rompers

Margaret was startled when she opened the door to Hawkeye, even though he was exactly on time. In her mind's eye, he was wearing the straw hat, red silk kimono, and plastic lei that he wore in the old days in the Swamp for the wild parties that he and McIntyre threw and she and Frank would try to break up. He hadn't even got his cheesy tuxedo and bow tie out of mothballs. He was in a gray three-piece suit with a darker gray tie and a white handkerchief.

"Well, do I make a presentable escort?"

She resisted saying he looked like an insurance salesman. "You'll do."

"You look great," he said calmly.

"Thank you." Even though this was a New Year's Eve party, it was being thrown by the hospital administrator. So her own outfit was on the conservative side: a long navy blue dress with elbow-length sleeves and no cleavage, low navy blue pumps.

"We look like we've been married twenty years and vote a straight Republican ticket."

"I am a Republican!" she snapped.

"Hey, I like Ike," he said, holding his hands up in peace. 

She sighed. There was no point in fighting with him, especially when he was doing her a favor. So she said, "We were in grammar school twenty years ago."

"You must have been married in rompers. Mighty pretty country round there. Do you think you'll ever go back?"

"Groucho, right?"

"Of course. He's like Shakespeare or the Bible, a quote for every situation."

"I sincerely doubt even the Bible covers our situation."

Instead of directly responding to that, he asked, "How was Connecticut?"

"I'll tell you in the car. How was your Christmas?"

"Quietly festive."

She'd been tempted to go, but in a funny sort of way, she associated Christmas with Hawkeye more than she did Thanksgiving, and she needed to see what the holiday was like without him. So instead she went to Hartford, driving this time, three hours, and had a far from merry time with her mother, who was "drying out" in a sanitarium.

And she ended up thinking about Christmas in Korea anyway, especially the time that she, Hawkeye, and B.J. tried to save a soldier from dying on Christmas Day. B.J., probably thinking of Peg and Erin, didn't want the man's family associating the holiday with their loss. And Hawkeye and Margaret helped keep the soldier alive as long as they could. In the end, Hawkeye had to reset the clock.

The other reason she didn't go to Crabapple Cove was she didn't want Christmas to be a repeat of Thanksgiving. Yes, she had enjoyed her time with the Pierces, but she felt like she and Hawkeye weren't getting anywhere, including whether they wanted to get anywhere. 

And yet, she'd asked him to be her escort tonight. When she told him she couldn't be there on Christmas, he asked about New Year's. So she told him her plans and then invited him. 

"Why, Miss Houlihan, is this a date?"

"No, you'll be there as my visiting friend."

"I see. And where exactly am I visiting?"  


"What do you mean?"  


"Well, I assume we're staying until at least midnight. And Portland is six hours from Crabapple Cove. Do you expect me to drive late at night this time of year?"  


"Oh." She'd twisted the phone cord before answering. "Well, I have a sofa that folds out into a bed."  


"Is it big enough for both of us?"  


"OK, maybe this is a bad idea."  


"Margaret, I'm teasing. I'll sleep on your sofa if you want. Alone."  


She wasn't sure what she wanted. She never had been sure with him.  


Two weeks after that call, she still didn't know. She wasn't even sure if it was a good idea for him to meet her boss and colleagues. Yes, he was witty and charming, but he might do or say something to embarrass her. She just knew she wanted to see in the new year, the first year after the war, with the man who'd been the most important to her during the war. (She could picture him saying, "More important than MacArthur?")

She did wait until they were in the car before she said, "My mother spent a lot of time complaining about my father. And then she blamed herself for my divorce."  


"How so?"  


"Oh, she thinks if our home life had been better, I'd have been a better wife."  


"What a load of crap! Sorry."  


"No, it's fine. But she's sort of right. Not that Donald deserved a better wife, but I am a bad judge of men. On the other hand, Vicky seems happily married."  


"Vicky?"  


"My sister Victoria."  


"Ah."  


"Anyway, it wasn't my happiest Christmas. But you had a nice one?"  


"Yeah, nothing too exciting, but it was the kind of Christmas I used to miss. Or maybe it was just my dad and the New England snow I missed."  


"Yeah," she said quietly, trying not to envy him. Well, she'd seen the New England snow in Connecticut, although it'd melted in the last few days. 

"So can I ask you something?"  


"What?" she said nervously.  


"Where is this party?"  


She laughed, apologized, and gave him directions.


	9. Rhubarb

As the countdown began, Hawkeye stepped closer to Margaret. He knew that they were going to kiss but he didn't know how. Certainly nothing like their final kiss in Korea. He'd spent the whole evening playing Miss Houlihan's dull doctor friend from upstate, and he wasn't going to blow that now.

All evening, as he told stories of his humble country practice, he kept thinking of New Year's in '50 and '51. Henry had dressed up as the old year and said, "Hear ye, hear ye. Here's to the new year. May she be a hell of a lot better than the old one. And may we all be home before she's over." A year later, Henry had failed to make it home, and a different colonel was giving an almost identical speech. Last year, Potter just said, "Goodbye, 1952. Hello, 1953."

The years and the seasons in Korea had dragged on forever. The time since then, although less eventful, had comparatively flown by, although part of that was just getting older. He was not middle-aged, but "still young." Too young to run for president, old enough to be settled in his ways, especially in a quiet place like Crabapple Cove with an elderly roommate.

Margaret, as always, complicated matters. He wasn't sure why he'd agreed to this non-date. It wasn't just, as he'd told his dad, a chance to go to a party in the big city. It wasn't like they were ringing in the new year in Times Square. And he'd been to cakewalks in CC that had more laughs. The main fun he had tonight was seeing how bored and boring he could get, like a background actor in a long-running play. He even mumbled "rhubarb" until Margaret shot him an annoyed look.

Maybe he'd make their midnight kiss as boring as possible. This wasn't really doing either of them any favors to let this drag on into '54. It was time to stop trying to bridge the distance between Portland and Crabapple Cove.

"Five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year!"

He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were closed until he straightened up, moving his mouth the six inches of safety above her mouth. (Usually seven or eight inches but she was in low sensible heels tonight.) Then he saw two blue question marks staring up at him.

He turned away and joined in the rendition of "Auld Lang Syne." He didn't hear her brassy offkey voice join in like it had the last three years, even though she was standing near but no longer next to him.

The party broke up not long after that and they were among the first to leave. He accompanied her on her rounds as she said goodnight to their host and other guests. It was as if they were rounds in post-op, with Nurse Houlihan being brisk and thorough. But he didn't joke or invite confessions like Captain Pierce. He just faded into the background.

They didn't say much in the car, the Packard this time. They just small talked about the food and the music at the party, mostly Perry Como and _Good Housekeeping_ finger food.

"...His sister gave me the recipes, although I told her I don't cook much."

"Well, maybe someday when you have more time off."

"I certainly won't be spending it in Crabapple Cove, will I?" She managed to make the question both rhetorical and plaintive.

He'd just pulled up in front of her apartment building. He turned off the engine and was about to suggest he drive at night after all. He'd done it in Korea a few times, and there was very little risk of being shot at in rural Maine. On the other hand, it was a good night to be hit by a drunk driver. Well, he could just find a hotel, in Portland or on the road.

Before he could find the words, she said, "What the hell were you doing tonight, Pierce?"

"Trying to behave?"

She snorted. "While I appreciate your not raffling off a nurse to a young priest who'd be so traumatized we'd have to replace him with someone tough enough to put up with your crap, there is a happy medium between that and an audition for _Invasion of the Body Snatchers."_

"I'm sorry."

"Look, if you didn't want to be there tonight, you should've just said so."

"I thought this was what you'd want, me not embarrassing you."

"I was willing to take that risk. And I want you to be yourself."

"In front of your boss? While we don't even know what we want from each other?"

She sighed. "Can we please talk about this upstairs?"

He hesitated, but then said, "All right." This time he took his overnight bag with him. He didn't know how long he'd stay, but he hoped to get some sleep, so pajamas might be necessary.

They sat on the couch, not folded out into a bed.

"Do you want some coffee?" she offered.

"No, thank you."

"What do you want?"

"From you? Friendship, memories, shop talk."

"Is that all?"

He sighed. "Do you know who I was kissing my first New Year's Eve in Korea?"

"You can't honestly expect me to keep track of every one of the nurses you fooled around with."

"I thought you and Frank were taking notes for a report."

"Like Kinsey?"

He laughed. "No, as in putting me on report."

"Oh. No, we were just tracking your misbehavior in general." He smiled a little, so she snapped, "Pierce, you and McIntyre were incredibly insubordinate, and I was hoping to restore order." She sighed. "But the problem was, war is naturally chaotic. I don't agree that it should be met with equal chaos, but I can better understand what you two were trying to do."

"Sometimes we were just trying to have a good time. Margie understood that."

She blinked. "Margie?"

"Yeah, Lt. Cutler. I haven't thought about it in years, but she was a Margaret, too."

"And that's who you kissed when 1950 became 1951."

"Yeah, and I was crazy about her at the time. Trapper and I both were. But a year later, they were both gone. And I was kissing Nurse Baker. Or was it Able?"

"So there's no point in starting something with me because a year from now you'll be kissing someone else? "

"Maybe. I don't know. Look, if this was just a roll in the hay, I wouldn't hesitate."

"We had our roll in the hay. Well, a dirt floor." She frowned, maybe thinking of how uncomfortable that'd been.

"Sorry I was on top."

She blushed. "Well, we did keep most of our clothes on."

He didn't blush, but he couldn't help pausing to remember details.

She was probably reminiscing as well, since it took her a minute to speak again. Then she said, "You didn't want it to mean anything. You didn't like my treating you like a boyfriend the next morning."

"You were just so, I don't know."

"Say it."

"I don't like you as much when you're starry-eyed over some guy, especially if I'm the guy. I like you better when you're tough enough to not put up with my crap."

"I like that about you, and my crap."

"So how are we supposed to have a romance? If I try to sweet talk you, you'll think it's a scam, a scheme."

"Yeah. Especially when Donald swept me off my feet, until I realized that his broom was sweeping extra-maritally."

He chuckled. "Yeah. And you've seen me chase after countless women. There's no reason to believe me if I chase after you."

"Are you still chasing other women?"

"In Crabapple Cove? Where everyone my age is married with two point five children?"

"That must make obstetrics challenging."

"It's halfway bearable."

She winced.

"Sorry. I could be faithful, but would you believe me if I were?"

"I don't know. Maybe. The war is over and you're not the same."

"Yeah. Although men, and women, have been known to cheat during peacetime."

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Do you feel weird that you cheated on Donald with me?"

"No, 'Hank,' I don't regret that. I think it was inevitable that something would happen between us. And those were extraordinary circumstances."

"Yeah. But I helped end your marriage."

"It would've ended anyway, even if you had just held my hand. Don't tell me you've been feeling guilty about that all this time."

"No, I just want some of the credit."

She laughed and then lightly kissed him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He gave her a longer kiss.

"That's nice, but where is this heading?"

He sighed. "Maybe we should just let this play out. Stop overthinking it. We know the arguments against it. You've probably hashed them out in your mind like I have."

"Yeah. That's why we both keep backing away and then coming back for more."

"Yeah. So this couch folds out into a bed?"

"Hawkeye."

"I need sleep. I had a long drive last year and I'm going to have a long drive this year."

"Right."

"And maybe I'll drive back and forth again in 1954. Unless you want to come back to Crabapple Cove."

"Maybe we could meet halfway."

"Like in Lincoln? That's about three hours away from both of us."

"I'm not sure where that is."

"It's in Penobscot County. Um, just one T."

She shook her head and said, "I'll help you unfold the couch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ came out in '56, but if the 4077th could be watching _Godzilla_ movies and Radar could be imitating John Wayne's '60s roles, then part of the bizarre _M*A*S*H_ timeline includes movies being released in a different order than in our universe.


	10. Lincoln

She kept telling herself that she was going to Lincoln for Lincoln's birthday, but she knew that if the 12th was on a Friday, then that made Sunday the 14th. Of course, she and Hawkeye might not make it through the weekend. They might bicker too much, or simply decide this wasn't going to work. She hoped that they could handle it like adults if that were the case.

The location of Lincoln was indeed convenient, or at least as convenient as they were going to get, but, yes, she would've changed the name of the county if she could. It wasn't even like her married name was all that common.

She'd never really been called Mrs. Penobscott during her brief marriage. It wasn't as if she kept her maiden name for career reasons, like Lucille Ball and other actresses. It was just that everyone knew her as Major Houlihan. They did stop calling her Hot Lips sometime during her engagement, but she had stopped sleeping around, even with Frank.

Hawkeye never got a disparaging nickname. He was admired for his promiscuity. And no one cared when Frank and the other married men cheated repeatedly on their wives.

Well, no, not Colonel Potter. He was an honorable man in every regard. And, B.J., well, he probably had never slept with anyone but Peg.

She still wasn't exactly sure what had happened with B.J. and Hawkeye. She'd seen them kissing one night but they didn't know she'd seen them. She'd been shocked, although she didn't agree with Frank that homosexuality was an illness, or a path to Communism. Most of her surprise was that it was two men she thought she knew well, not like Private George Weston, whom Frank had tried to get dishonorably discharged.

Having so recently kissed and more with Hawkeye herself, she couldn't really judge B.J., although his marriage was much happier than hers. As for Hawkeye, well, he wasn't exactly Father Mulcahy, was he? She wouldn't be surprised to learn that Hawkeye had slept with Trapper. (Well, she did once find the two of them in her bed, but it was only to irritate her.)

Whatever Hawkeye had done physically with his two partners in crime, it was always the emotional closeness that she'd envied. She and Pierce had certainly grown closer over the years, and she'd confided in him more than anyone over there, but he always held something back. She definitely wouldn't feel comfortable asking him about his involvements with men.

She of course never brought it up with Peg, in phone calls or letters. Their friendship was relatively new and fragile. And how could she say, "I think my potential lover was in love with your husband"? Peg joked about it, saying things like "When those two have their reunion, I'm going to bring a book along so I don't feel like a third wheel." But Margaret was sure Peg suspected nothing. A reunion seemed unlikely anyway, when it was hard enough for Hawkeye to manage this intrastate relationship.

Peg obviously was thrilled that Margaret was spending Valentine's Weekend with Hawkeye. She said, "B.J. just wonders what took you two crazy kids so long." As if B.J. weren't one of the hundred obstacles to this romance they were trying not to call a romance. Margaret did believe that B.J. was happy for them, because he was a good person and he cared about both of them. But she did wonder if there was a part of him that was jealous.

Trapper, if he ever found out, would think Hawkeye was crazy, and not in the old fun way. And Frank must never know. It would kill him, and she still cared enough about him to not want to hurt him too much. He'd had a breakdown over Donald, but that was because the lieutenant colonel had seemed to be everything that Major Burns aspired to, while Captain Pierce was someone he'd both envied and loathed. There were of course moments when she thought of the Major Houlihan of 1950 and part of '51 being disgusted by her later self succumbing to the charms of the sloppy, undisciplined, very un-military, black-haired and dark-humored degenerate. That Margaret would better have understood a roll in the hay with the captain with the curly blond hair and crooked smile. Lust was relatively uncomplicated. Even in the beginning, her feelings for Pierce were too complex, and it looked like they weren't going to get any simpler in peacetime.

She pulled into the parking lot of the Lincoln Lobster, the seafood place where they were meeting for dinner. Last week, Hawkeye said, "So for the first night, room service or a restaurant?"

She'd quickly chosen the latter, although he might've been teasing. It was going to be awkward enough going to a hotel in two separate cars. She didn't want to start off the evening that way.

She still wasn't sure how far they were going to take things that weekend, or what it might mean. But she'd packed her diaphragm and a new negligee just in case. She couldn't help smiling a little at the thought that their first time together had been very much unplanned.

He was already at the restaurant when she arrived. He waved at her as the waiter escorted her to the table. Hawkeye wasn't wearing the bland suit of New Year's and he wasn't in denim and plaid like in Crabapple Cove. He was wearing the cheesy tuxedo and bow tie. She smiled again.

She was in a simple black dress, with no sleeves and a little cleavage. But he didn't see that until the waiter took her winter coat. Then Hawkeye's eyebrows went up and he grinned.

"I'll have to take you dancing tonight."

She smiled. "I'd like that." Maybe they could do romance after all.

They didn't flirt over dinner, other than Hawkeye's winking "Mmm, oysters!" Seafood was too messy for her to feel sexy and glamorous, and they mostly talked about their patients, parents, and mutual friends.

"I can't believe little Radar is getting married!" she exclaimed.

"I wish I could be there. To give him away."

She suddenly remembered how Hawkeye and Trapper would joke about being the boy's parents. She managed to say, "And to give him fatherly advice?"

"I'll leave that to Colonel Potter."

Hawkeye paid the bill. With shock, Margaret realized that they'd never gone to a restaurant together, unless Rosie's counted. They'd eaten hundreds of meals together, but mostly poorly cooked ones in the mess ball.

"Beats SOS, doesn't it?" he said quietly, as he helped her on with her coat.

"Yes," she murmured, aware of his closeness.

Then he offered his arm and they went out to the parking lot.

"So how are we doing this?" he asked.

She hesitated, not sure if he meant the sex or the courtship or what. "This?"

"Yeah, do you want to just leave your car here? At least until we get back from dancing? Or should we drive separately to the club and then separately to the hotel?"

"Well, you know Lincoln better than I do."

"Not that well. But it's a clear night. Let's walk to the club."

She laughed. "OK." She took his arm again.

The dance club that he knew of was only a few blocks away, which was good, since she was in high heels. Lincoln was maybe double the size of Crabapple Cove, which she suspected didn't have any nightlife. It still seemed strange to her that Pierce could be happy in such a quiet life.

He did, however, seem to be enjoying being out on the town, a town where not everyone had known him since his infancy, or theirs. He was playful and charming on the dance floor, whether the Lindy Hop or a slow dance. She just tried to keep up with him. And she let herself be charmed, even though she'd seen such wooing before and knew it probably wouldn't outlast a time or two in bed. She'd just try to enjoy this while it lasted and not get too attached.

"Do you want to call it a night?" he whispered as he held her close.

"Is our hotel in walking distance?"

He laughed. "Yes, but we should probably get our luggage."

They ended up taking both cars. That was likely for the best, especially if things didn't work out. She could make her escape with minimal awkwardness.

She followed his car and had to laugh when she saw that their "hotel," perhaps in keeping with the Lincoln theme, was a set of log cabins. He led her to the one furthest from the road.

After she parked and walked over to him, he told her that he'd gotten to town early and registered before dinner.

"Oh, and I was looking forward to seeing you sign us in as Mr. and Mrs. Smith."

"I prefer Smythe, with a Y. It's classier."

Classy wasn't the first word that came to mind for their accommodations. But it wasn't a tacky motel either. It just felt like they both should've been in denim and plaid.

He took out the key and let her in. It was rustic but cozy inside. He set down his overnight bag and said, "I'll start the fire."

"And I'll freshen up." She took her bag with her into the bathroom. She noticed the claw-footed tub and the pull-chain toilet. She supposed she should be grateful for indoor plumbing. And it was hardly the most primitive place they'd ever spent the night together.

At first, she was just going to brush her hair and teeth, and reapply her makeup. But after she did all three, she thought of slipping into something more comfortable. She doubted Hawkeye would think she was too forward. But he seemed, from her years of observation, to prefer seducing to being seduced.

She decided that she wasn't going to coddle his ego. She never had. She wanted him and he should feel flattered. So she stripped down, put in her diaphragm, and then put on skimpy black panties and the scarlet negligee. Then, her heart in her throat as much as it was on her filmy sleeve, she went back to the living room.


	11. Fireside

Underneath his calm, joking manner, Hawkeye wanted Margaret Houlihan desperately. This passion, lust, desire, whatever it was, startled him. He'd slept on her sofa last month and was relatively undisturbed by thoughts of her in her bedroom. But there was no pretending that this weekend was platonic, that they'd content themselves with hugs and kisses.

He felt both excited and frightened. She was so intense! And not just physically. Yes, any future couplings would lack the threat of perhaps dying by morning, but living with the consequences was almost equally frightening.

He'd packed a box of condoms in his overnight bag. He wouldn't tell her until and unless it got to that point. He knew she might fly off the handle if he told her too early. But it was good to know they were there. Not that his fears were all pregnancy-related, but after the fallout from last time, he wasn't taking any chances. And, while condoms cut back on his pleasure a little, they beat the Sin of Onan.

He suddenly heard Trapper's voice in his head, warning him about a now half-forgotten nurse, "Look out for this one, Hawk. She'll slap the cuffs on if you do more than necking." Trap had been speaking metaphorically, but anything was possible with Hot Lips. Well, if she got too clingy, he'd gently remind her of the great distance between Portland and Crabapple Cove. This couldn't become anything regular, even if he wanted it to.

He wasn't able to light the fireplace right away. His hands were shaking a little and he was very glad he didn't have to perform surgery. At last he warmed his hands in front of the flames.

Only then did it occur to him that Margaret was taking awhile and probably wasn't just brushing her teeth. He'd thought she looked lovely earlier but couldn't directly tell her. To be honest, she was as likely to dismiss his wooing as to read too much into it.

At last, he heard the bathroom door creak open. He turned and was going to excuse himself to brush his teeth, since he likely would at least kiss her. But when he stood up, he wasn't the only one. He felt like Miss Baumgarten, the blonde geography teacher with the great bottom, had just called him up to the board to label the towns of Maine.

"I'm sorry," Miss Houlihan said, blushing, "is it too much?"

"No, it's too little," he said, ogling her legs and her cleavage.

"I'll go put on a robe."

"Like hell you will!"

She laughed more sexily than he'd ever heard her and then she came over and kissed him.

He fell upon her lips, falling, falling, until he was lying next to her on the bearskin rug in front of the fire.

"Oh, Ben!" she sighed.

If this were a movie, all you'd see would be the roaring fire. But this was reality and Hawkeye was aware that, while this beat an abandoned hut in the middle of a battle, it was not the most comfortable place to reconsummate. Not to mention that he had to get to his overnight bag without breaking the mood.

"Tonight?" she whispered.

"Yes, Baby, tonight!" he gasped, not caring if she'd snap that she was nobody's baby, or if she'd rain endearments on him. It was what he felt, more intensely than he'd ever felt any of those words before.

As the rational part of him wondered if something had been slipped into his oysters, he kissed all over her face, before settling onto and then into her mouth. She kissed back just as hungrily. She'd definitely brushed but didn't seem to mind that he hadn't.

Her hands undid his bow tie. He was now definitely overdressed, but he'd catch up later. For now he was more eager to get her clothes off than his own.

He'd never seen her naked. It was too risky in their hut. She'd seen him, thanks to bets and pranks. It was time to even the score.

He caressed her negligee up her legs, exposing her black panties. He thought of asking if they were black for Lincoln's hat, while her nighty was Valentine red. But he wasn't in the mood to lighten the mood. So he just said, "These are good colors for you."

"Then why are you taking them off?"

"Because flesh color suits you even more."

Her flesh turned pinker, maybe not just with embarrassment.

But then her big blue eyes flashed and she said, "I seem to remember you promising me foreplay."

That wasn't strictly accurate. Last time had been so rushed that they'd mated like two cats in heat, trying to avoid a hurled boot. He'd told her afterwards that he was usually better about foreplay, and he gave her afterplay, when their lives didn't seem to be in any danger at the moment.

Still, she was right. It was the considerate thing to do. So he peeled off her skimpy panties, teasing her a little through them before they slithered down her legs. Then one hand returned to between her legs, while the other realized he'd been neglecting her chest.

"Blonde after all?" Trapper said in his mind. They'd of course speculated on that, but Hawkeye didn't think he'd bother to collect that bet. And as lovely as Margaret was on the surface, he wanted to get to know her on a deeper level.

He worked his way in, slowly, teasing them both.

"Hawkeye!" she begged.

"Patience, Baby. We've got all weekend," he crooned, even as he felt ready to burst through his dress slacks.

"It's not that," she gasped. "I don't want you to displace my diaphragm."

He laughed, partly in relief that he wouldn't need the condoms after all. But then at the thought of exploring her without rubber, his penis writhed, almost in agony.

He struggled for calm. "So you're wearing a diaphragm?"

"Yes, I'm sorry if I'm being presumptuous."

They grinned at each other, and then he said, "No, it's a good idea to be safe." He slid his fingers in deeper and more carefully. "Don't worry, I'm a doctor."

"Not a gynecologist."

"No, more of an amateur in that field." It wasn't exactly a regulation exam, especially when he scooted down and started measuring her heart rate with his tongue. His fingertips found the diaphragm, perfectly positioned, because this was Major Margaret Houlihan.

"Do I pass inspection, Captain?"

"Yes, but I may do a more thorough examination with a finely calibrated instrument I happened to bring."

She snorted, but before she could say anything sarcastic, he brought her to orgasm. He looked up at her face, glowing in the firelight, and never found her more beautiful. But of course he didn't say that.

Instead he said, "Are you comfortable on the rug?"

"It's better than a dirt floor," she said so matter-of-factly that he laughed.

...

Benjamin Franklin Pierce had brought her to orgasm, not for the first and probably not for the last time. She wanted to just lay there, feeling the warmth of the fire, and his hands and mouth. But she was nothing if not dutiful. "Lie down, Pierce."

"Yes, Sir!"

"Sorry. Please lie down, Ben."

"OK." He went into one of his pin-up poses, most often seen on Colonel Blake's desk, lying on his side with twinkling eyes.

"On your back, Hawkeye."

"Why, Margaret!" he said coquettishly, before rolling onto his back.

She looked at the bulge in his slacks. It was time to reward his patience. She reached out for his belt.

"Mmm, Margaret, I like where this is going, but wouldn't we be more comfortable on the bed?"

"We've got all weekend to go to bed," she said, loosening the belt.

"Good point."

He let her unzip him and he wriggled so that she could take down his slacks. It was strange to think of the times she'd seen his shorts, on and off him. She'd even seen him naked a couple times, although only in glimpses and never alone. But she'd never seen him erect. That time in the hut it was too dark and chaotic.

He lifted his bottom coyly, his eyes still twinkling, and she slid down his jockey shorts. She found herself wondering why he wasn't wearing long winter underwear, but it was probably for the same reason she put on a dress in February.

"Does my tool meet with your satisfaction, Major?"

"I'll have to examine it more thoroughly," she said grasping it in one hand and moving her head closer.

She'd just opened her mouth when he startled her with, "Margaret, what the hell are you doing?"

She pulled away as if he'd slapped her. "Sorry, Pierce, I thought you'd like it."

"I'd love it, but later. I thought you were going to play cowgirl and ride me by the fireside."

"Sorry to disappoint you." With as much dignity as she could, she got up and sat on the couch.

It was more difficult for him to stand, with his pants and shorts down around his ankles, not to mention what was probably by now a painful erection, but he joined her a couple minutes later.

"Margaret, I'm sorry. That was a very kind offer, and if you want to wake me up that way Sunday morning, I won't say no. But I thought, well, considering we seemed to be heading to another destination, the detour threw me."

"It's very simple, Pierce. You satisfied me, so I was going to satisfy you."

"Believe it or not, I find coitus thoroughly satisfying."

"Yes, but this way, you would be the focus."

"I'm not that self-centered!"

"You don't understand."

"Then explain to me, Hot Lips."

She blushed and couldn't speak.

He stared at her and murmured, "General Hammond." She knew he was remembering when she'd tried to get the general's help in shutting down a wild party that Hawkeye and Trapper threw. And Hammond had greeted her with that nickname, which soon spread throughout the camp. No one had correctly guessed its true meaning, not even Hawkeye, until now.

"All those generals!"

"Not all of them!" she snapped.

"I thought you had sex, I mean ordinary sex, with them."

She sighed. This wasn't anything she'd ever talked about with anybody before. But Hawkeye had a way of getting her to confess. "It depended. And, no, I never did anything for a promotion. But power is an aphrodisiac."

He laughed. She rolled her eyes.

"Sorry, but I've never found General Hammond attractive."

"Well, he's no Captain MacIntyre," she said, knowing that Hawkeye knew, thanks to a drunken confession or two, that she'd found Trapper attractive.

His eyes widened and she felt like biting her tongue, suspecting how he'd interpreted her remark.

Then his eyes narrowed and he said, "Oh, this is that conversation."


	12. More Than Zero

Hawkeye had wondered sometimes if Margaret knew or guessed that he was not a Kinsey Zero. He had flirted with both Trapper and B.J. in front of people, but it was probably just chalked up to his zaniness. After all, Pierce clearly loved the ladies, so most people probably never considered he might love a gentleman or two. (He could imagine Trap, and maybe Beej, too, being offended to be called a gentleman.)

"For the record, I still don't know what B.J. stands for." In his mind, he now heard, "A college widow stood for something in those days. In fact, she stood for plenty." It was not the moment for a Groucho imitation.

"Hawkeye, you don't have to tell me," she began.

"And you didn't have to tell me about the generals. But I think you should know." As he said it, he realized she was exactly the right person to tell. "I loved both of them. Not like women, and not like each other. With Trapper, that meant sex, and, yes, we did to each other what you just offered to me. Along with a few other obliging women. But I digress."

"Yes, you do," she said, crossing her arms and obscuring the breasts he still hadn't paid nearly enough attention to. Maybe later, if they got through this conversation.

"With B.J., it was hugging, kissing, cuddling. Still probably cheating by a Hunnicutt definition, but it was as far as he was willing to stray. And we made that hellhole a little more bearable for each other."

"You're lucky," she said quietly.

"Well, I suppose succubusly ingesting the vital fluids of men who wear stars on their—"

"You're disgusting, Pierce."

"That's the part you find offensive? Not my confessions of moral degeneracy with two married men?"

"You've always been a degenerate, Hawkeye. You're just more diverse in your perversity than most people realize."

He laughed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now can I give you manual stimulation, or are you going to suspect I'm trying to steal your power?"

"I'm powerless around you. Putty in your hands."

He wasn't entirely kidding, but she put her hand on his crotch and said, "Some putty."

They necked as she played with him, and after awhile he toyed with her breasts. She came from that, which helped him come, not that he needed much nudging by then.

Afterwards, he said, "I think I need to freshen up."

"Well, so do I."

"Of course. Ladies first?"

She hesitated and he wondered if she was going to suggest they shower together. But then she thanked him and left the room.

He did wash his hands at the kitchen sink. Then he belatedly took off his clothes. Margaret didn't take long. She seemed to notice his nudity but said only, "I left you some hot water."

He thanked her and then went into the bathroom. He saw that there was an old-fashioned tub, no shower. In Korea, showering together would've been too intimate for anything beyond his jokes. But bathing together would've been much too intimate even now. The last time he'd bathed with a woman, it was in Tokyo, in a tub so big, he, Trapper, and two geishas had fit cozily but comfortably.

Hawkeye had never worried about keeping himself pure for a hypothetical future wife. For one thing, after Carlye, he seldom thought he'd ever get married. And for another, while he didn't see anything wrong with a man being a virgin on his wedding night, as Radar might well be, Hawkeye's sex drive had always been too strong for that. He assumed a wife would understand that.

He was telling the truth when he told Margaret that he'd been celibate since coming home. Maybe some of his desire tonight came from that, and the hope that with Margaret he'd met his sexual match.

He couldn't really judge by their previous time together, since that had been atypical in every way. In the days when she was with Frank and all those generals, he would've guessed she loved and needed sex as much as he did, but she'd changed over the past three years, once she got engaged. He knew for a fact that her honeymoon had not gone well.

He didn't hold her past against her. Why should he? He just wanted to see what that experience had done for her.

He knew he was probably a fool to reject her offer of oral sex. But he'd really wanted regular sex just then, and now he'd have to wait awhile. If she was even still interested. He wondered if they would always miscommunicate. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered, except he seemed incapable of just walking away from her.

His bath was more leisurely than hers, but at last he got out and wrapped a towel around himself. When he returned to the main room, she was under the blankets. He grinned and tossed the towel onto the couch.


	13. Quickly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I can't keep to the M-rating anymore, so it'll be E for awhile.

As Margaret got into bed, she thought of how things hadn't exactly gone as she would've imagined. Still, she and Hawkeye had both reached orgasm, so that was a good start.

She did want to make love with him, but part of her hesitated. It wasn't exactly that this was all happening too fast. They'd known each other over three and a half years, and they had been very intimate that one time. But she wasn't sure if she was ready for planned sex. Spontaneous was so much easier, or at least it used to be.

His bath was longer than hers, but at last he crawled under the covers and they cuddled. His body was cool and clean, although he warmed up quickly.

"Happy Lincoln's birthday."

She laughed. "You, too."

They kissed and he stroked her hair, which she was wearing down tonight. She didn't know if they would keep going, but this was very nice on its own terms.

After awhile, they necked. She knew, from eavesdropping on her nurses, that he loved to neck, not just as a form of seduction, but in itself. She enjoyed it, too, in general and now specifically with him, especially the way he breathed in her ear.

"I'm glad we're doing this," he whispered.

She wasn't sure what he meant by "this," but she said, "Me, too." Even with miscommunication, she liked trying to figure him out.

"Your tits," he murmured, one hand moving down to her chest.

"Ben!" she gasped.

"The old days, I loved your perfect posture, sticking your chest out. Attention!"

She giggled and blushed, then groaned as he teased her nipples through her negligee. Then his hand pushed up the cloth and his fingertips danced across her chest.

"Hawkeye!"

"I am more of a fanny man though," he said, his other hand moving down from her hair to her back and then onto her bare bottom.

"Ben!" she moaned against his neck.

"Are you still wet for me, Baby?"

She liked him calling her Baby, although she wouldn't have accepted it from most men. "Why don't you check, Pierce?" she said as calmly as she could. "I have the feeling you're hard for me again."

She scooted closer and put one leg over his hip.

He groaned and slipped the hand on her chest between her legs.

"Mmm, nice and wet!"

"Nice and hard," she murmured in his ear as he throbbed against her thigh.

"God, Margaret!"

And then she shifted and guided him into her with her hand. "So hard!"

"So wet!"

For awhile they lay on their sides, hardly moving, just feeling how good and right this was, but then she rolled onto her back and murmured, "Yes, tonight, Baby."

"Hot lips!" he gasped and then quickly mounted and entered her. His first strokes were fast and hungry. Then he slowed down enough to savor it. He even teased her clitoris a little, until she lifted her bottom to catch him between her legs again.

"Mmm, Margaret!" he moaned, and then cupped her bottom with one hand while teasing her clitoris with the other, as his penis pumped steadily into her vagina.

She still couldn't get enough of him, so she not only squeezed him but rolled her hips, changing the angle just enough to feel him in many directions.

"God, you're good!" he grunted.

"So are you," she admitted.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, almost as good as you think you are."

He chuckled. His ego was huge but not too fragile. And her body was telling him what her words weren't, that he was the best lover she ever had.

She bit her lip to keep from crying his name as she came again.

He said, "Allow me," and withdrew so that he could shift his head and give her lip-nibbling kisses.

"Pierce!" she begged, longing for him to fill her again.

"Is that a command, Major?"

She groaned, partly at the inevitable pun. But she decided to play with him a little, too. "Get on your back, Captain."

"Yes, Ma'am." He rolled off of her and onto his back. His penis, which was indeed a versatile instrument, pointed at the wooden ceiling, and he put his hands behind his head.

"That is not a regulation salute, Captain."

"No, but it's a sincere one."

"Then you won't mind serving under a woman?"

"It depends on the post."

She suspected that was a pun, too, and a rather phallic one at that. But she said, "There's an opening at Camp Houlihan."

"Oh, darn, drafted again."

She shook her head but put a leg on either side of his hips, the negligee making a little tent around them.

"I hope I'm stationed here a long time."

She wanted to say he shouldn't make promises about the future, but he probably meant in terms of minutes.

"It depends how well you fill the position, " she said, grinding down on him.

Instead of continuing the banter, he cupped her bottom and growled her name. He held her like that, and started thrusting from below. Then his other hand teased her clitoris.

"Hawkeye!" she gasped.

"So good, need more!" he moaned.

"Yes! Fill me!" she gasped and clenched him.

"God!"

He loosened his hold a little and she rocked on him. He bent his legs, changing the angle and bringing her chest forward.

"That's it, just a little more." Then he pulled off her negligee and started teasing her breasts with his tongue.

"Hawkeye!"

He squeezed her bottom and thrust deeper into her. Her orgasms were quick and sharp, and she took him again and again, feeling like she was going to faint.

She carefully rolled off him and onto the bed. He mounted her again, pumping deep and fast, as she shuddered around him.

"God, Baby, oh, hell, not yet!" He winced as he came.

She laughed gently.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"I'm not complaining," she said pulling him closer. She listened to his rapid heartbeat and then softly kissed his nipple.

"Do you need afterplay?"

"No, just cuddling."

"Good, because I think you've worn me out."

She thought he was kidding, but five minutes later he was snoring in her ear.


	14. Reveille

Hawkeye slept soundly and when he woke, it took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone, and another moment to realize who his companion was. The last person he shared a bed with was B.J., but this person was smaller and softer. Also a lot more naked than B.J. had ever been this close up. Sharing a bed with B.J. was mostly for comfort and affection, and there were boundaries, unlike with Trapper.

He of course thought of waking up with her the morning after their first time. He wondered if she'd be that clingy today. After all, he'd shown her an even better time, and they were closer emotionally than they'd been then anyway. He really was very fond of her and he didn't want to hurt her by leading her on, making her think they had any kind of a future.

He looked down at his penis and thought at it, "I know, if it were up to you, we'd be taking her home. You want that in Crabapple Cove, don't you?"

Both heads turned to look at the blonde hair and the curvy bottom, and then Hawkeye found himself spooning her. Her bosom was so soft yet firm, he had to cup it.

"Animal," she murmured sleepily.

"Why else do you think I invited you to Lincoln?" He pressed his hardness into a rounded ass cheek.

"For the fine seafood?"

A dozen puns crossed through his mind, but instead he simply said, "I want you."

"I can tell. But let me wake up more and then freshen up my diaphragm."

"I brought condoms. I hope that wasn't presumptuous of me."

She laughed. "No, it's good to be safe. But I do need to wake up more."

"I'll awaken you."

He let go and moved so that he could kiss her neck. She rolled onto her back, smiling up at him. He stroked her face and then kissed her lips.

"I need to brush my teeth," she mildly protested.

"You're delicious."

She blushed and said, "Then I guess I won't say that I must look a mess."

"Fortunately, I like messes."

She rolled her eyes and then the eyes rolled up a little when he started playing with her breasts. He traveled down to kiss them, lick them, suck them.

"Mmm, this beats reveille," she murmured, which he figured was a pretty high compliment coming from her.

He didn't reply verbally, just orally. He thought of all the years of wanting her, and he kept going on her chest until she started to come. He slipped one hand between her legs, so he could feel her orgasm.

"Oh, Ben!"

And then he raised his hand to his face and licked it.

"Hawkeye!" She sounded startled.

"Delicious," he said and scooted down to where the proof of her blondeness was and parted it.

"Oh God!"

This wasn't something he did for every woman he was with. Sometimes it just wasn't practical, or the woman wasn't interested, or he wasn't. But he had really enjoyed his time here last night and he wanted to show his appreciation.

"But, Hawkeye, I haven't even—"

"Relax, Baby. It's good."

And it was. And delicious.

"Oh, Hawkeye, sweet Hawkeye!" she cried as he tasted her next orgasm. She'd never called him sweet before, but he usually wasn't. Neither was she, but maybe there was something better than sweetness.

"I want you inside me again."

"I think you're awake."

She laughed. "I think I'm dreaming."

"Do you often have naughty dreams about me?"

"Go get the condom, Pierce."

He washed his hands and his crotch and then got the condom, while she lay in bed biting her lip and caressing her breasts. It was hard for him to be patient, but well worth the wait.

She rolled onto her stomach and said, "Since you're an animal...."

He grinned, although she couldn't see it. He used to fantasize about taking Hot Lips doggy style, and now she was suggesting it. The best position for it was her hanging off the bed, her bottom in the air, while he stood next to the bed and scooped in from below. He ogled and squeezed her ass as his other hand stroked her clitoris, and his penis gave her deliciousness fast strokes of its own.

"God, so fast!" she gasped.

He'd slow down and tease her if he could, but it was impossible. He had to keep rubbing his pelvis against the bottom he'd once suggested she leave to science.

His orgasm again caught him off guard. It wasn't usually like this, or not since college anyway. It was as if there was a disconnect between the act and its goal. Maybe on some level, he wanted to keep doing this forever, and his orgasms were preventing that.

He didn't apologize this time. He just said, "Thank you," and caressed her chest.

"You're very welcome. And I think it's time to find out about room service."

He laughed so hard, holding her, he felt like he was coming again.


	15. Compliments

Hawkeye was a gentleman and answered the door for room service, while Margaret stayed out of sight. The bellboy knew a couple was staying there, supposedly a married couple, but there were rules for these matters.

Hawkeye had even bathed, shaved, and put on pajamas, the same pajamas he'd worn at her place. She was glad they hadn't done anything then. It was nice to be in this relatively neutral territory, although she had no idea what would happen after this weekend.

It was clear he wasn't yet tiring of her. In fact, the more he had her, the more he seemed to want her. It might've just been that Pierce had never been celibate for so long, and now he had a willing and attractive partner. But she didn't think that was all that was going on here. It certainly wasn't all that was going on with her.

The first time she called him an animal as a compliment was when he gave her a surprise kiss for Christmas 1950. He did it right in front of Frank, who was too stunned to defend her. She could've slapped Pierce but she didn't want to. The kiss was too good, passionate yet teasing. And she kissed back, instinctively.

It didn't change anything between them really. They still argued almost every time they met. And she was in love with Frank. But, even if Hawkeye kissed her for his own passing amusement, she couldn't easily forget it.

The physical attraction was never in doubt, on either side. And now that they'd been together, more than once, it was clear that the sex lived up to fantasy. But they couldn't spend the entire weekend having sex. As he'd pointed out, they needed to eat and keep their strength up.

The room service menu on the night stand wasn't very wide. So he ordered them both English breakfasts, since the Continental breakfast sounded skimpy. She didn't know what they'd do about lunch or dinner. Perhaps they should go out to another restaurant, but that would mean getting dressed and spending time around other people, when all she wanted was to be in bed with Hawkeye. Even breakfast had to be in bed, rather than on the couch.

If this were a lovey-dovey romance, they'd probably feed each other. They did spend a lot of time pretending they weren't looking at each other's mouth.

"I'm jealous of that slice of toast," he said after awhile.

"Oh, Ben."

But then he distracted himself and her with a series of bread puns, including about his rye sense of humor.

"Were you always a class clown?"

"Yeah. Were you always incredible in bed?"

She blushed. "It took practice. And thank you."

"Thank you. I'm glad I'm benefiting from your experience."

"Why do your compliments always sound like insults? And your insults like compliments."

He seemed to seriously consider the question, since he chewed and swallowed part of his egg before he answered. "It's like when I called myself your number one nemesis. We've got that built into our friendship. This love-hate thing. Not that I ever really hated you."

"I didn't hate you either, although I tried."

"And when I say love, I mean."

"Yes?"

"I don't know what I mean."

"Oh." She tried to hide her disappointment.

"I care about you of course. And I like you."

"Hawkeye, it's fine. Let's not pretend this is something it isn't." She didn't add that she'd made that mistake last time, the first time.

"Right. It's just mind-melting sex between two old Army buddies."

She laughed. "Like you and Trapper?"

"You're better than Trapper," he said quietly.

"Well, I'm flattered, I think."

"It's not because you're a woman. But I think it's the friction, I mean mentally."

"What do you mean?"

"Trapper and I were so much alike. We hardly ever argued. I think you grating on me, and me on you, excites me."

"Hm. But we're also really physically compatible."

"Yeah." He leaned over and kissed her as if to reconfirm that. Then he said, "So am I better than Frank?"

She huffed, "Honestly, Pierce."

"I was hoping to outdo Ferret Face. I guess I'll have to try harder."

She mischievously said, "In that case, you were the worst ever."

"Hey, I've only got about twenty-four hours left of this weekend. I need a more attainable goal."

"You're in the top ten," she said, more honestly this time.

"Yeah? Well, you're in mine."

"Thank you. Not that it's a competition of course."

"And not that you're ever competitive."

She laughed and shook her head.

They finished breakfast and then he said, "Allow me." He bussed the bed and left the trays on the porch. Then he came back to bed and kissed her. "So what would get me in the number one spot? As a lover, not a nemesis."

She hesitated. She wasn't sure how much he was kidding. And she didn't know whether to tell him he was the best lover she'd ever had. It wasn't just that she didn't want to feed his overstuffed ego. She didn't want him to know how much he got to her, although he couldn't have missed all those orgasms.

The truth was, she was falling for him. It wasn't just the sex, but the sex had been the missing dimension to her feelings for him. However, she knew Hawkeye and knew the limitations of their relationship. She couldn't help the way she felt but she could keep most of her feelings to herself.

"It's that hopeless, huh?"

"Well," she began, choosing her words carefully, "we both know that if you sweet-talked me, neither of us would believe it, because I've seen you try to get so many of my nurses. And you're known for your charm."

"Thank you, I think."

"But you could compliment me. I mean besides my body and skills in bed."

"OK, you're a hell of a nurse."

She shook her head. "Hawkeye."

"What? You are. You're amazing. You're sensitive and caring but not sentimental. And you respond to what I need, sometimes even anticipating it in an almost Radar-like fashion. But you're not afraid to contradict me when you have to, so you keep me on my toes."

"Are we still talking about my nursing?"

"Of course. So have I moved up to #9 yet?"

She again shook her head but laughed this time and then kissed him. She'd probably never change him and she wasn't sure she wanted to.


	16. Disarray

Hawkeye asked himself why he cared about pleasing the difficult to please Margaret Houlihan. After all, this couldn't go on forever. After this weekend, he'd have to see her less, not build up her expectations. And for his own sake, he'd need to return to a life where making love with her was not a daily or more than daily occurrence.

But none of meant that he shouldn't do his best this weekend. He had a reputation to uphold. And Margaret definitely deserved to be pleased.

She seemed to be better about not getting clingy this time, at least so far. She was still very intense, but that did make her sensational in bed.

He was finding that he was responding to her with a blend of the various attitudes he'd had over the years, seeing her as the strict but hot-lipped major of his first year in Korea as much as the valued and respected colleague he'd come to know since then. He could have fairly serious conversations with her even when she was naked, and he could joke with her even when he was deep inside her.

He was mildly surprised to find that the kissing was better after sex. In the past, after he'd been with a woman once or twice, his interest usually faded. He might still flirt with her, but no longer with the goal of getting her in bed. And there would usually be a new woman on the horizon, a new challenge. The pursuit was less frantic after a couple years in Korea. By the time the war ended, he was tired of almost everything, including his distractions from the war.

And at one point he had fallen in love with a woman that he had never done more than kiss. Kyung Soon was noble, in both senses, aristocratic but heroic. She was also beautiful and intellectual. And, because of the war, he couldn't be with her. It had torn him apart to say goodbye to her, but he had to.

If they had had sex, it wouldn't have been the earthy, playful act it was with Margaret. It probably would've been lovely. But he did wonder now if that sort of love was what he really wanted and needed. It was more like something out of a movie, even the messiness and confusion on a higher plane than everyday life.

He also thought of Carlye Breslin, well, Carlye Walton now. They'd been madly in love and even lived together and been engaged, during his residency. They were together a year but she felt she came second to his love of medicine. When he saw her again in Korea, the feelings came back, but it was still an unworkable situation, especially since she was married.

And there'd been others that he was in love with, or thought he was in love with. What he felt for Margaret was nothing like being in love. He didn't idealize her. He didn't want to bore his friends talking about her. He didn't think about how to see her more often. He didn't feel like she completed him. She was just Margaret, someone who was incompatible except in bed and at an operating table.

So why did she mean more to him than anyone he'd been in love with? Yes, even more than Trapper and B.J. Why was kissing her this morning after breakfast so good?

Maybe it was because they'd had sex so many times since the previous evening. It had been a very long time, maybe not since Carlye, that he had spent a weekend in bed with a woman. And he was really enjoying getting to know Margaret in this way. It added an extra layer to their friendship. Yes, they'd had sex that one time in Korea, but he hadn't exactly been savoring the experience.

This was definitely more leisurely. She was still naked and he of course thought about the sex they'd had and the sex they probably would have, but for now it felt good to just press their lips together and then open them for some tongue action.

When she sucked his tongue, he thought again of how he'd rejected her offer of oral sex. She hadn't offered again, even after he gave it to her. He hoped he hadn't missed his one chance. He didn't want to ask. Well, maybe she would indeed wake him up that way the next morning.

"Hawkeye, I really do need to brush my teeth at some point."

He remembered telling her, their first morning after, when she regretted not having her toothbrush along, "You have the whitest teeth I've ever seen. Margaret, you could read by your teeth." But now he just said, "All right."

"And I need to put fresh jelly in my diaphragm and take a bath and brush my hair and...."

"Don't you ever just let yourself go?"

"Ben, this is as disheveled as I'm comfortable with."

He chuckled. "OK."

She kissed his cheek and said, "I'll try not to take too long."

He nodded and then watched her bare bottom as she walked towards the bathroom. Then he sighed and thought about her some more.

Maybe they could keep seeing each other after this weekend. Not as a regular thing, but every month or two. Of course, at the moment, that didn't feel like nearly often enough, but he knew that he couldn't sustain this level of interest. It was just that she was a relative novelty.

At the same time, there was the comfort of familiarity. Exploring her body was newish, but her personality was not. They had a shared past and, even though they didn't always understand each other, there was a lot they didn't have to explain.

And the sex was incredible, but even kissing was amazing. The way their mouths fit together, the way they moved, no, not as one but as two separate yet close individuals. It was like how during sex, they didn't blend into a beast with two backs but were instead two very different bodies finding joy in their differences.

He wasn't used to this sort of compatibility. He and Carlye could finish each other's sentences, but even when Margaret anticipated him, whether handing him a scalpel a moment before he knew he needed it, or twitching her pelvis in a rhythm that threw off yet enhanced his own, she wasn't doing it because she was his dream woman. She was doing it because she was Margaret Houlihan and she had her own ideas about teamwork and support.

He was getting impatient for her return. He wished he'd suggested sharing the bath, even though he'd bathed less than an hour earlier.

At last, she returned, clean, naked, and smiling. She crawled into bed and asked, "Miss me?"

"I counted the seconds."

She shook her head, as if he was being sarcastic. He didn't explain but instead kissed her very warmly.


	17. Mermaid

When Margaret bathed that morning, she had a hard time not imagining that her hands were Hawkeye's. She did her best to clean and maintain her body in a brisk, orderly fashion, although she felt decadent and unmilitary around Hawkeye. And she had a hard time not thinking of him waiting for her in the other room.

As quickly but as calmly as she could, she returned to Hawkeye. And before long, they were lost in a long, warm kiss.

He stroked her damp hair. She hadn't washed it but let it mermaid around her in the tub. She'd mostly been growing it out since she left the Army.

He put his forehead against hers and looked into her eyes with his, which were, well, piercing. She wondered if he'd see through her, guess the depth of her feelings. But he said, "I like it this length, your hair."

"Thank you," she said and then kissed him again, not just to avoid his eyes.

She really liked the taste of him, even though she wished, for his own sake, that he'd brush his teeth more often. She ran her tongue along them before catching his tongue in hers.

Their tongues interlocked in a way like and unlike sex. More fluid of course, and they could switch roles, so for awhile he surrounded her as she thrust in and out.

His hands stroked down her shoulders, and then one was on her back, the other on her chest. He stopped kissing her to whisper in her ear, "Your skin is so soft and smooth."

"Thank you."

He kissed her neck and gently caressed her breasts. She sighed into his ear and then breathed, "Hawkeye." She stroked his hair and his neck. She wanted to feel him inside her again, but this was lovely, too.

He stroked under and around each breast, and the cleavage, too, before inevitably teasing each nipple.

And his lips teased her neck. She moaned softly, wishing he didn't get to her so much.

"You like that?"

"Yes," she admitted, knowing her body wouldn't let her lie.

"So do I." He rolled one nipple with his fingertips, making her bite her lip. "God, you're responsive! I mean, I'm good but not this good."

She laughed and then gasped as he licked her ear as his hand kneaded her breast.

"You seem to be having trouble making up your mind what to do to me," she said in a calm tone, while melting on the inside.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I kind of want to do everything at once. I want to enjoy your body, all of it, but when I touch you and kiss you, well." He moved close enough that she could feel his hardness against her thigh.

"Doesn't that thing ever sleep?"

"It slept for most of the past nine months. But now your naked body is giving it insomnia."

Nine months ago they were in Korea. The war hadn't ended yet. She wondered who he'd been with in May, but more out of idle curiosity than jealousy. Whoever it was, the woman was probably half forgotten. Margaret wondered if she'd be half forgotten in nine months. She was very glad they were using two forms of contraception.

"Should I get dressed?"

"No, but maybe I should get undressed again."

"Allow me," she said, unbuttoning the top button of his pajamas.

He grinned. "Well, if you insist." He rolled onto his back.

She sat up and then leaned over him, letting her hair form a curtain around them. Then she slowly unbuttoned the rest of his pajama top.

"Margaret," he breathed, and then reached up and caressed her hair and her face.

She softly kissed his lips and then his chin, his neck, his shoulders, and down to the thin black hair on his chest. She lay on her side and listened to his quickening heartbeat. Then she turned her head and kissed his nipple.

"Mmm, that's nice," he said quietly.

Then she teased the nipple with her tongue and teeth. It hardened and his penis seemed to become even stiffer.

"Animal," he groaned.

It would be so easy to reach into his pajama bottoms and pull out his penis, slide it into her. But instead she decided to try again what she'd attempted on the bear skin rug.

She kissed down to his stomach, hoping he wasn't ticklish. He seemed to be holding his breath. She had the feeling he wouldn't stop her this time.

She reached into his pajama bottoms, pulled out his penis, and kissed the tip of it.

"Yes, Baby!" he gasped.

This time she wasn't going to do it to even out the pleasure. She loved him, loved his penis, and wanted to express that.

She eased his pajama bottoms down more in front and gently cupped his testicles as she began to lick along his length.

"God, Margaret!" He stroked her hair surprisingly tenderly.

She licked all around him until she was ready to suck the head. He pulled on her hair a little, which excited her as much as his musky although clean scent.

"So good," he murmured as she sucked and licked at the same time. "But now I want to eat you again!"

She moaned with her mouth full.

"Sit on my face, Baby! Sixty-nine is divine."

She was tempted but when she slid him out of her mouth, she said, "I'm too short. Or you're too tall."

"We'll make it work, or at least have fun trying."

"All right," she said, her tone struggling not to give away how moist she already was at just the thought of it.

They repositioned themselves so that she was lying on him with her crotch near his face while his was right against hers.

"Mmm, Hot Lips!" he exclaimed, and then he must've lifted his head and brought it forward. She could feel his thin nose with the mischievous tip pressing into her and then his lips and tongue.

"Hawkeye!" she cried and then started sucking the head of his penis again.

She couldn't take him in too deeply at first, but he didn't seem to mind. He seemed most concerned with bringing her to orgasm as many times as possible. It made it very hard to concentrate, especially when he licked and even sucked her clitoris, but she did try to at least stroke his penis with one hand.

When he paused for breath, she scooted forward and got him further down her throat. She was blessed with a minimal gag reflex, plus she'd done this enough, although not recently, that she could suck quite a bit in.

"Hell, this is Heaven!" he gasped.

She wanted to laugh but knew that was a bad idea. She just squeezed his balls a little.

"God, Margaret, don't make me come yet!"

She paused to ask, "Do you want me to stop?"

"I told you, I want everything at once."

"Then maybe we should hold hands."

"OK." He took her hand off his testicles and led it between her legs. So she touched herself at the same time he fingered her, their hands sometimes clasping and working together. She'd never done this with anyone before and it felt particularly intimate.

She swallowed him again as she came, wanting to feel him, taste him, as he came.

"I want to finish in here, come in here," he said, one sensitive finger stroking along her walls. He kissed her, his tongue licking along the opening.

She slid him out of her mouth and said, "Are you sure, Ben?"

"Yeah, MH, I am."

She laughed. "Is that my new nickname?"

"Yeah, unless you have a middle name."

"Oddly enough, I don't."

"Ironic, considering you have a hell of a middle."

She blushed against his night-black pubic hair and then made herself rotate 180 degrees before again sitting on him.


	18. Slaked

Hawkeye moaned as Margaret sank onto him again. The oral sex had been as good as he hoped, but he did want to finish off with vaginal. And she was so nice and wet and open now. She bounced up and down on him and he loved watching everything jiggle on her.

But after awhile he said, "Can you lie flat instead of sitting up?"

"Of course."

She did so and he put his arms around her. She still moved against him but less. Then he carefully rolled them over so that he was on top.

"Oh, Hawkeye!" She sounded surprised but delighted.

He'd fallen out but he easily thrust back in.

"Can I try something?" she asked.

"Of course."

She moved her legs so that her feet were on his shoulders. He realized what she was doing, so he changed from lying flat on her to supporting himself. It took a few minutes to get into position, but it was worth the effort.

"Mmm, yeah, good angle." He turned his head and kissed her big toe, making her giggle.

Then she shifted to throatier sounds as he thrust in and out of her, tapping her clitoris every time. She wiggled around him, and called out his name, or rather, "Pierce! Hawkeye! Ben!"

When he came, he managed only a slurred "Marga," like he was drunk.

She giggled again but she also clenched around him like she didn't want to let go. He collapsed on her and hugged her tight. They held each other for a long silent time.

Then she said, "I should brush my teeth."

He chuckled. "And take a bath?"

"Well, yes."

"May I join you?"

"You just did."

He chuckled again. "Well, that's why I need a bath."

She hesitated and then said, "Well, let me brush my teeth first. Alone."

"Margaret, I'm a doctor. I'm not going to be disgusted by seeing you spit."

"It's too intimate."

"My penis is inside you!"

She shifted and expelled him. "Not anymore."

"Why do I bother arguing with you?"

She licked his nipple. "Because it excites you."

He had to laugh again. If it weren't for the fact that he was becoming irreversibly flaccid, he'd probably be hard again. But he wasn't a teenager and it would take awhile to get another erection, especially with the workout she was giving him that weekend.

He pried himself off her and said, "I'll brush first, so you won't have to see me spit."

"Thank you."

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw he looked a little drunk, although he hadn't had any liquid more intoxicating than Houlihan juice. He whispered, "I think I've been slaked." Then he washed his face and brushed his teeth. He left his hair tousled because it looked better that way.

He went back to the main room and said, "All yours."

"Thank you," she said and walked towards him. She looked slaked herself, far from the regular Army bitch who'd irritated him the first day they met. And yet there was still an unbreakable dignity to her, even naked and disheveled.

He grabbed her when she reached him and he bent her back in a kiss. She was much less surprised than the first time, and she kissed back more enthusiastically. Also, her mouth knew his better after three years, and she knew how to play with him now.

When he straightened up and let go, she said, "Thank you for brushing your teeth."

"You're welcome," he said a little breathlessly.

Then she sashayed past him into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. He suddenly felt like frantically masturbating about her, even though he was still flaccid.

The first time was an accident, sort of. He dreamed of her and touched himself in his sleep. He woke to Trapper telling him, "You'd better not let Frank catch you at that, Hawk."

Hawkeye wasn't as embarrassed as he might've been. He hadn't done much with Trapper at that point, a little hugging, a little kissing, a little dancing. But they were pretty relaxed about physical stuff, so Trap catching him masturbating wasn't as awkward as if it were Spearchucker. Plus, Hawkeye had just woken up, so he couldn't fully process things.

"Frank?" he croaked, taking his hand out of his shorts. "Is he Chairman of the Anti-Self-Abuse Society?" Hawkeye's wit was automatic, and coming up with the ASAS was something he could do in his half sleep.

"Probably, but I think he'd mainly object to you having wet dreams about his girlfriend."

Hawkeye stared at his best friend. "Are you a mind reader?"

"No, but you woke me up talking in your sleep."

"Shit," Hawkeye muttered.

" 'Oh, hot lips!' was the only part I caught. But that would've been enough for Frank to strangle you."

Hawkeye shook his head. "I don't even like her. I mean as a person."

"I don't think that's necessary for lust."

Everything was so simple for Trapper. Not that he was stupid, but he didn't worry about things like this. He didn't think there was anything surprising about Hawkeye's lust for Hot Lips, and he had his own uncomplicated lust for her. Given the opportunity, Trap would've slept with her, but he wouldn't have given it much thought before or after.

Trapper wouldn't have found himself in a log cabin with Hot Lips months after the war ended, and not just because Louise McIntyre wouldn't have approved.

The bathroom door opened and Margaret stood there, disheveled and naked and glorious. "You can come in now."

So he came in.


	19. Displacement

She hadn't filled the tub as much this time, since there would be the two of them. It was going to be a tight fit but she didn't mind.

"So do you want me to get in first and then you can lean against me?"

That was so tempting but it would be too difficult to get clean. "We can sit at either end."

"OK." He still got in first, stretching his legs out and hanging his feet out the other end.

She smiled and got in, sitting between his feet, near the taps. If the tub had been right up against the wall, this wouldn't have worked. They were more cozy than crowded.

He leaned forward and handed her the soap. "Ladies first," he said.

"Thank you." She felt self-conscious washing herself in front of him, and remembering all those jokes he and his friends used to make about peeping in the nurses' showers didn't help. She reminded herself that he was her lover now, although not her boyfriend, and his ogling was a compliment.

Still, she had to soap up one of his calves a little to shift his focus and relax herself some.

He laughed but not out of ticklishness. "Oh, are we bathing each other?"

She went back to washing her shoulders, not that they needed it. "No, it's just that your leg is right there."

"Do you want me to move it?"

"No, I like having your legs next to me," she admitted.

"Well, it's not as nice as when your legs are around me."

She rolled her eyes up to the wooden ceiling. "Hawkeye!"

"What? You can't tell me you're surprised I like having sex with you."

She made herself meet his eyes. "I'm not surprised."

"Good. Let me know if you need help with any hard-to-reach spots."

"Thank you." She assumed he was again talking about bathing.

She didn't need a full bath really, not when this was her second bath of the day. She hesitated and then started washing between her legs. She tried not to think too much about him watching her.

"Mmm," he murmured.

"Hawkeye," she said softly.

"Sorry, sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I like seeing you touch yourself."

"This is hygiene, Pierce."

"Well, I have dirty thoughts about getting clean."

She shook her head but continued cleaning herself. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much sex, of various kinds, in less than twenty-four hours, and she had the feeling that they were far from finished. They'd have to check out of the hotel by eleven the next morning but that was plenty of time for more lovemaking. She thought of it as lovemaking, not just sex. She wasn't sure how he thought of it and she wasn't about to ask, but he was sweet and tender with her sometimes, and it didn't seem to be just about sex for him, even if he couldn't define how he loved her.

"Do you want me to wash your back?"

"It's still pretty clean from earlier. But thank you."

He shrugged. "Your loss. I am known throughout the Orient for my back-scrubbing."

She laughed and shook her head. Then she ran the water over the bar of soap, rinsing it off, before leaning over and handing it to him.

"Thank you." He soaped up his hands and then rubbed his crotch. She tried not to look but of course her eyes were drawn there. "You can look if you want. I don't mind."

She blushed. "Well, it's not like I haven't seen it."

"It? My penis or my touching myself?"

"Ben."

"I'm going to assume you mean my penis. Since you're pretty well acquainted with it by now."

"Yes. I'm sorry I'm not as quick-witted as you."

"What?"

"I can't do witty repartee with you all the time."

"I don't know, you can surprise me sometimes with what you come up with."

"I mean, you and Trapper, and even more, you and B.J., would have long punning sessions and routines. I can't do that."

"Margaret, you are a very intelligent, sometimes very serious woman, who has a funny streak. I'm not expecting you to be or do anything other than who and what you are."

"Well, thank you."

"Plus, Trapper and B.J. didn't have delectable breasts."

Now she really blushed.

"Not that they didn't have broad manly chests."

She shook her head and laughed again.

He set the soap on its dish and said, "Come here, I want to spoon you."

She hesitated and then swam over, turning to rest against him. "Mmm."

"Yeah, it's nice," he said quietly. He wrapped his arms around her.

"Hawkeye," she began, not sure where she was going with this.

"I know. I don't know. I want more of this but I'm not sure how this fits into regular life."

She nodded against his shoulder. She was afraid to say too much and lose what they had.

"Well, let's just enjoy this weekend and then we can figure more out when we've had time to process it."

"OK." She tried to just think about how it felt to feel their bodies pressed together in the soapy water.

"So what would you like to do the rest of this weekend? Besides the obvious."

"Maybe take a nap. Then go for a walk. Go to lunch, or it would probably be dinner by then. Come back and snuggle by the fire."

"Sounds like a plan." He kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry there's not more to do in Lincoln, especially in the winter. Not that there would've been much to do in Crabapple Cove. Well, other than watch TV with my dad."

"It's fine." She didn't say that she didn't want a lot of distractions, not this weekend. She just wanted to spend time with him.

"Maybe we could spend time in Portland sometime. Not at a party."

"OK. There's a lot to do in Portland." She wondered what it would be like to explore the city with him. She hadn't really explored it much on her own. She'd mostly gone to and from work. She realized suddenly that they hadn't ever gone anywhere fun, like his trips to Seoul and Tokyo with Trapper. She hadn't traveled for pleasure in Asia with anyone but Donald, and that wasn't ever as fun as she'd hoped. She wondered what it would be like to go to New York City with Hawkeye, but she stopped herself from going too far mentally down that road. That would mean a very different relationship from what they had.

"Yeah, sometime," he said after a pause, and she wondered if that would even happen. Well, at least they had now, which was more than she ever could've hoped for seven months ago, when she thought she was kissing him goodbye forever.

After awhile, she said, "The water's getting cold. Let's get out."

"OK." He let go of her.

She stood up and carefully got out, grabbing a towel. She dried herself off and then handed him the other towel as he got out of the tub. The towels hadn't completely dried from their earlier baths. She'd hang them up by the fire in a little while.

"Thank you," he said, drying his chest.

She nodded and then wrapped the towel around herself. He smiled and wrapped his towel from the waist downwards.

"How about we snuggle by the fire now?"

There was a mischievous glint in his eye and she said, "Are we going to need to take another bath in the next half hour?"

He chuckled. "I'm not that fast. At recovery or performance. I just figure it would be a pleasant way to dry off."

She almost said that she had the feeling it would make her wetter, but she bit her tongue. She wasn't ready to banter at his level.

They and the towels did dry out nicely on the bear skin rug, despite some snuggling and kissing. They both got sleepy from the warmth and after awhile they crawled into bed, leaving the towels to hang by the fire. Then they cuddled as they napped.


	20. Light and Heavy

They must've been more tired than they realized, because it was starting to get dark out when he woke. He wanted to stay in bed with her, but his stomach growled.

They'd cuddled in their sleep but had separated at some point. He still got up very carefully, not wanting to wake her. He went to the window and lifted the edge of the blue gingham curtain. The sun was setting and the colors of the sky reflected off the layer of frost on the ground. He hadn't even realized it'd snowed.

"Hawkeye? " she called sleepily.

"Over by the window. It's been snowing."

"A lot?"

"No, we won't be snowbound."

He thought he heard her murmur, "Too bad," but he couldn't be sure. Part of him wanted to be stuck in that cabin all weekend and maybe beyond, and the other part knew that he had to break away at some point.

Then she said in a louder voice, "Did you still want to go for a walk?"

"Yeah, it's not that thick. Did you bring any warm clothes? Sensible shoes?" He was teasing, thinking of how she'd looked on the dance floor.

"Of course," she said, another reminder that this was Major Margaret Houlihan.

"Let's walk to dinner. I mean after we get dressed."

She smiled. "OK."

She dressed like she had in Crabapple Cove, so he did, too. Then they headed downtown.

"There's a diner I've been to a few times. No dress code."

"How's the food?"

"Heavy, hearty, but we'll burn it off."

She blushed a little but she smiled, too. Then she took his hand. They held hands all the way to the diner.

The food was heavy and hearty, but that was just what he wanted then. He tried not to eat too much too fast and get a stomach ache.

She ate more than usual, but they had skipped lunch, and gotten very physical before and after breakfast. It was strange to think how many meals they'd shared in Korea, but usually with lots of people around. He remembered the hut of That Night, joking about room service, eating canned peaches, crackers, and jam. Peace seemed so far away then, and he never imagined it like this.

"This is good," she said.

"Yeah." They meant the food of course.

He picked up the check, as he had the night before. If they were just friends, they'd probably have gone Dutch. Or maybe if they'd been in a relationship, a long-term romantic relationship, they might've split the check. On the other hand, if he were in pursuit of her, trying to get her into bed for the first time, he'd have wined her and dined her. He paid now and last night, including the cover charge when they went dancing, and obviously the hotel, because, well, he was the man. Still, if she'd offered to pitch in, he wouldn't have said no.

She must've partially read his mind, because she said, "This weekend must be costing you a fortune."

He considered and discarded two replies: "It's not like I took you to Paris" and "That's OK. You can cover Easter weekend." Instead, he said, "Fortunately, I'm independently wealthy."

"No wonder you're the second most eligible bachelor in Crabapple Cove."

He chuckled uneasily. He suddenly remembered trying to defuse a bomb with Trapper. Henry had paused at the wrong moment in the instructions, and the bomb had exploded anyway. It turned out to be filled with CIA propaganda leaflets.

She went back to eating her food, so he went back to eating his.

They didn't hold hands on the way back.

He felt like something had changed between them, but he couldn't pinpoint what or how. And wasn't their relationship, of its very nature, constantly in flux?

He remembered something else from the first six months in Korea. He'd failed to remove all the shrapnel from a patient. It ate away at him. He'd been practicing meatball surgery for awhile, although looking back at himself then, he seemed like a novice, a kid. There'd been nothing like this in med school, or his residency. Certainly not in shadowing his dad in CC. And part of his inexperience was that he couldn't just let it go. But it was not the time or place for perfectionism.

She had to come to him, when it wasn't easy, and she'd made suggestions of what he might've overlooked. He dismissed it, said she was just the assistant. She'd been wrong, but what he realized now was it had been nagging away at her just as much as at him, but she hadn't made a big deal out of it like he had, where he made everyone around him acknowledge his heavy burden. And when the solution came to him in the middle of the night, he woke her up, and not just so he could catch Frank in her closet. She was the best nurse there and on some level he knew that this was her case, too.

He found the last piece of shrapnel. She seemed as pleased and relieved as he was. They'd both been sweating from the tension. So after she dried his forehead with a towel, he dried hers and told her, "You're beautiful when you sweat." Instead of scolding him, she let her big blue eyes smile back at him above her mask.

He now leaned down and kissed her.

Afterwards, she asked, "Why did you kiss me on the porch?"

He waggled his eyebrows and said, "Would you rather I kiss you inside?"

She blushed and laughed, then threw her arms around him. They kissed on the porch until they got too cold. Then he unlocked the front door.


	21. No Rush

It was never easy with Hawkeye Pierce. They were both so prickly in different ways. Even in the early days, when he pretended to care about nothing, to believe in nothing, to only take seriously the trivial and meaningless, he'd had a short fuse. Sometimes she'd tried to talk to him like a professional, and he'd dismiss her. He got better about that, but she'd had to yell and she'd had to speak calmly, before she got through.

It was different this weekend, because she felt like her love was getting in the way of their relationship. She couldn't freely speak her mind when she kept wanting to blurt out her feelings. She didn't want to drive him away, like before. Let him tire of her in his own time. That wouldn't hurt nearly as much. It would be his fault, not hers.

At the same time, she knew she had a sexual hold on him, at least for now. It sometimes made her more confident and playful. If she weren't in love with him, she could twist him around her little finger.

She thought of Frank. They'd been in love with each other, so no one should've been more powerful. And, yes, she knew that love, real love, should have nothing to do with power. But she'd known early on that she was the strong one. He needed her more than she needed him, even though he had a wife and family. She was independent, more than she realized back then.

The funny thing was everyone had seen her as pushing Frank around, "Lady Major Macbeth" Hawkeye had called her once. But looking back, Frank's weakness had given him power. He controlled the relationship more than she did. Until she met and fell for Donald. She'd thought that now she could lean on someone strong, but Donald would end up calling her sturdy.

Pierce had never claimed to be strong. He boasted of his cowardice. He seldom promised to let her rely on him. But she had, again and again. And then one night, when she thought she might die, she begged for him to hold her, although she was too scared to feel it at first. And then she'd held him deep inside her and she'd never felt anything so intensely.

"I want you, Hawkeye," she now whispered against his neck.

They were sitting on the couch near but not next to the fire. She hadn't wanted to immediately be naked in bed with him again, so she'd asked, "Can we just sit and kiss for awhile?"

"Yeah, sure. Kissing is fun. And I never have to worry about getting a leg cramp. Sometimes a neck cramp."

"I'll massage it if it gets stiff." His eyebrows went up, so she said, "Your neck, Pierce."

They kissed for a long while and then of course slipped into necking. And he unbuttoned her plaid shirt, apologizing for his cold hands, but she didn't mind. She bit her lip when he undid her bra, but it wasn't because of the coldness of his hands.

She knew that if she admitted she wanted him, he'd interpret it only sexually. Unless she'd given herself away despite her caution. Sure enough, he said, "Yeah, your nipples are really stiff. Would you like me to massage them?"

She smiled. "Yes. Thank you."

"My pleasure." They went back to necking as he massaged her breasts, not just the nipples. After awhile, he said, "I want you, too, of course. But there's no rush is there? I mean, we've got the rest of the night."

"I can wait," she gasped, as he nibbled at her neck.

"Good," he murmured. Then he kissed down, slowly but unquestionably, to her chest.

She felt like she would never get used to this, if their relationship would actually last long enough to get used to anything. And yet, they'd been together enough that she had memories and anticipation to draw upon. Also, she was excited enough for sex, and instead of that making the preliminary activities boring, it only enhanced them.

She was still wearing all her clothes, sort of. Her shirt was still on her back, her bra straps just barely on her shoulders. He'd nudged the cups outof the way for the massage, and he lowered them more as he kissed her nipples.

She arched her back, longing to feel him inside her but not wanting him to stop this. And he didn't. He flicked one nipple with his tongue, the other with his fingertips, before switching off.  


Then he straightened up and said, "This'll be easier if you sit in my lap."

"Facing you?"

"Sideways works, too."

At least he wasn't asking her to straddle him. She would lose her last bit of patience if she did.

"All right." She sat sideways in his lap.

"Much better." He kissed her on the lips and eased her shirt and bra off. Then he kissed down to her chest again, and she leaned back against the arm of the sofa.

She was aware of his erection underneath her. He was testing his own patience.

She sat up and faced him, not straddling him but kneeling on either side of his narrow hips.

"Mmm, Margaret," he murmured, and then took her right breast into his hand and then his mouth, licking and sucking until she came.

She cried, "Hawkeye!" and pulled on his hair. Then she sank onto his lap, really feeling his erection now.

"God, Margaret!" He kissed her mouth passionately.

She wound her arms around his neck and kissed back equally passionately. She hadn't done anything like this since college, back when sex always seemed like such a huge step, and sometimes she'd stop at an earlier step.

She was now straddling him and they rubbed their crotches together, teasing each other and themselves. The bed wasn't that far away. It wouldn't have been that difficult to take the rest of her clothes off, allow him to disrobe, and then reunite on the bed. But they stayed in this limbo for awhile.

Then he said, "Do you want to do it on the couch? And should I go get a condom? Or do you want to put fresh jelly in?"

"I thought you said there was no rush."

"Well, I'm starting to feel more of a sense of urgency."

She laughed gently, then said, "Condoms. Bed."

"Then you're going to have to get out of my lap."

She could've pointed out that she'd have to get out of his lap for the other possibilities, too. But she just kissed his cheek and stopped straddling him.


	22. Hypnopompia

He sat on the edge of the bed, condom in place, as she straddled him. He buried his face in her neck and stroked her spine and the undersides of her breasts and of course her curvy bottom. She slowly eased up and down on him, and he thrust as slowly as he could, in and out, again and again.

After awhile, she turned around and sat in his lap but facing away. He still toyed with her breasts but now also teased her clitoris.

She panted, "Goddammit, Hawkeye!" as she came, making him chuckle.

He kissed her ear. "Is there a problem, Margaret?"

"So good!" she groaned.

"Sorry about that."

She shook her head and then got up and sat next to him. She kissed him passionately, frantically.

"You want another position?"

"Yes!"

"I think you'd use up the Kama Sutra in a week."

"Ben!"

"OK, give me a moment." He took a breath and then said, "All right. I'm going to stand next to the bed and hold your legs."

"OK!"

He smiled, kissed her cheek, and stood up. They got into position and he started giving her slow, steady strokes. She responded by rolling her hips and clenching and unclenching around him.

"Yeah, Baby, just like that," he sighed, enjoying the rhythm they found.

He wished he could caress her again but he had to hold her by both thighs to maintain this angle. He grinned as she started touching herself, holding one breast and her clitoris.

"OH GOD!"

"Keep going!" he pleaded, as he got faster, needing her and needing her to need all of this.

"You, too!" she panted.

And then her orgasms washed over both of them, three in quick succession. He felt her pulsing around him as he came.

He withdrew carefully since he didn't have a free hand to secure the condom. It stayed on somehow, and he carefully set her legs down. Then he climbed into bed and snuggled up against her.

"We're very good together," he said.

"You think so?" she teased.

"Well, I know I'm not in Frank Burns's league."

"Keep trying." She kissed him, sweetly rather than passionately, so that was how he kissed back.

Then he reluctantly said, "I'll be right back," and got out of bed. He went in the bathroom and threw the condom away. Then he washed his hands and his crotch. He returned to the main room and said, "The powder room's free if you want it."

She sleepily replied, "I think I'll wait until morning."

He would've been amused at wearing her out if he didn't suddenly feel exhausted himself. He crawled into bed and they wrapped around each other, soon falling asleep.

His sleep was mostly dreamless, but towards the end, he dreamed of her. It wasn't anything specific, just being in bed together.

If he'd been alone when he woke, he would've masturbated. But he was woken by Margaret's soft kiss on the cheek.

"Good morning," he said, smiling.

"Good morning. Sorry to wake you but it's already nine and we've got to check out in a couple hours."

He was surprised it was so late, but they had been worn out.

"That doesn't give us much time."

"No, it doesn't." She kissed him on the mouth as her hands wandered under the covers.

"And you're definitely not wasting time," he said as her hands reached his crotch.

"Mm mm," she said, kissing his neck, and he interpreted that as "Uh uh."

Then she kissed her way under the covers, as her hands kept teasing his penis. He held his breath, wondering if he was dreaming. Yes, he'd half joked about it, but somehow he didn't think she'd really do it. He half thought she'd quit before she got there, but even to be teased like this was very nice.

She licked both his nipples when she reached his chest. He reached for her breasts and caressed them, but she moved on.

When she kissed his stomach, his penis strained so much to meet her, he thought he might poke her in the eye. He stroked her hair and tried to be patient. He had the feeling she wouldn't draw this out much longer, and not just because they had to check out in a couple hours.

At last he felt the warmth and wetness of her lips on the head of his penis. "Margaret," he sighed.

She kissed along the sides of his penis, before returning to the top. Then she opened her mouth and slowly started to take him in. He bit his lip. She was so good at this! Not that she wasn't good at vaginal sex, but usually he couldn't just lie back and observe like this. There was a certain advantage to taking a passive role and letting her do things to him, although he'd make up for it when she was ready to switch to vaginal.

She sucked shallowly at first, but one hand stroked his shaft, while the other carefully stroked his balls. Gradually, her sucks got deeper and deeper.

He wanted to watch her, so he pulled the blanket down enough to see her head bobbing. She glanced up at him but kept going. It excited him even more.

"Mmm, this is great, but if time is running out, maybe you should ride me." At this point, he could probably come with her on top.

She slid him out and looked up at his face again. "Don't you want to come in my mouth?"

"God!" He couldn't remember ever wanting anything more. His penis thrust forward in her hand.

She grinned and then her mouth reshaped to swallow him.

She licked more and sucked less as he thrust, but the head was in her mouth when he came. He didn't cry out for once, maybe because he was stunned. She swallowed his semen and then tenderly kissed his penis from head to base.

She smiled up at him. "Did you like it?"

"Like it?! Will you marry me?" he joked.

Then the waking dream turned into a nightmare.


	23. Not As Usual

Margaret had heard Hawkeye Pierce make hundreds, no, thousands, of jokes in three and a half years. Some of them had been tasteless and even cruel. But none had torn into her like this, like hawk's talons piercing her flesh.

She swallowed a sob, trying not to think of what else she'd been swallowing. Then she wrapped the blanket around herself and got out of bed.

"Margaret, what's wrong?"

"I told you we have to check out soon." She realized she'd never fully unpacked, unlike usual, where her military training made it one of the first things she did anywhere she went. Even on her honeymoon, no, she didn't want to think about Donald right now. The important thing was she had less to pack, just the items she'd worn and removed for Hawkeye, or he'd removed from her. She didn't want to think about that either.

"No time to cuddle?" He pouted in a flirty way she usually would've found hard to resist.

She didn't want to touch him ever again. Even slapping him wouldn't make her feel better. "Sorry, no."

She picked up her bag and took it into the bathroom. It'd be easier to get dressed if it wasn't in front of him.

She washed her face and brushed her teeth before fishing a bra and panties out of her bag. She had slipped on her panties and was fastening her bra, when Hawkeye knocked.

"Margaret, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting dressed," she said in what she hoped was a normal tone.

"Uh, don't you want to bathe first?"

"I took a bath when I first got up." She'd also put subtle dabs of perfume on her pressure points. He hadn't noticed of course. Well, to be fair she hadn't really given him a chance to notice.

"Oh." Was he wondering why she hadn't woken him then? She waited for his usual banter, but he just said "Oh" again.

She finished dressing and neither of them said anything. She wasn't even sure if he was still on the other side of the door. She took a deep breath before turning the knob.

He'd moved back to bed and had covered himself up with a sheet. She hesitated and then put the blanket on the foot of the bed.

"Thanks," he said, but he didn't pull up the blanket.

"You're welcome," she said as she started to gather her discarded clothing, hoping none was on the bed. She'd do laundry when she got home.

"I know you're preoccupied at the moment but would you mind telling me what the hell I did wrong?"

She hesitated. She really didn't want to have this conversation, but maybe she did owe him some explanation.

"And don't tell me I didn't do anything because obviously I did."

Without looking at him, she asked, "Why did you have to make that joke?"

"What joke?"

Had he already forgotten? Or did it just not stand out for him among all his other jokes? "The one about marriage."

"Oh. It was meant to be a compliment."

"Well, thanks."

"Look, can we, OK, if I leave the room for five minutes, do you promise to not run out?"

"OK."

He got out bed, naked but flaccid. She looked away but heard the bathroom door shut behind him. She quickly gathered every scrap of her clothing she could find in the bedding, trying not to touch his. She was all packed by the time he returned.

He went to his own bag and took out a pair of boxers. She was again trying not to look at him, but her eyes were almost always drawn to him, as they had been for three and a half years.

"OK, my nudity will no longer offend you. Can we please talk?"

She sighed wearily. "Are you sure you want to hear what I have to say?"

"What? Do I taste bad?"

She rolled her eyes.

"No, it was my joke that was in bad taste, right? But how? I mean, it was no more irreverent of holy matrimony than usual."

"Of course not," she snapped. "Obviously the only proposal out of your mouth would be a joke proposal."

"Don't tell me you were expecting a serious proposal at that moment! I mean, that was some exceptional fellatio, but hardly a solid foundation for a marriage."

She shook her head. "I need to go." She put on her sturdier pair of shoes, hoping the ground wouldn't be too slippery.

He shook his head. "Margaret, I'm very fond of you, but—"

"I know. Marriage would never work between us. But unfortunately I'm in love with you. So let me stop pretending I'm not. And you can just be glad we had a fun weekend and you can forget how it ended."

He stared at her and murmured, "Margaret."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything before, but I guess I thought I could hide it. Anyway, now we won't have to keep trying to make this work. And it'll be less driving back and forth."

"Well, we'll always have Lincoln."

Even now he had to joke. She knew he was referring to _Casablanca,_ one of his favorite movies. She thought of how things hadn't worked out for Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart, but at least they, or rather their characters, had both been in love. Margaret wasn't even making a sacrifice in support of a brave husband who would help win a war.

Real life didn't have such neat, polished endings. She'd wanted to storm out of there, tossing her love in his face. Or better yet, she could've strode out of there with some of her dignity intact. Instead, she'd been vulnerable to a self-absorbed man. Maybe she'd hoped that he would suddenly realize he was in love with her, but that was foolish. She was nothing like any of the women he fell in love with. And these were not the sort of circumstances where he'd fall in love.

Despite everything, she wanted to kiss him goodbye, not like their big kiss last summer, more of a sad, wistful kiss. But she was feeling too many mixed emotions, and she didn't want to confuse him or herself any further.

She put on her hat, coat, and gloves, unable to reply to his Bogie-like comment.

"I'm sorry," he said. She wasn't sure which part he was apologizing for, but maybe it didn't matter.

"Me, too," she said. She knew the blame wasn't all his. "But I've got to go."

So she left. She half wanted him to follow her. Obviously, he would have to get dressed first, and then take the route to Portland. She was driving slowly, as the snow had melted and that made the roads more treacherous. He could catch up with her if he wanted to.

She knew there was nothing left to say, but it did feel strange to end it like this. And was it really over? After all they'd been through. Well, maybe it was good that Crabapple Cove was six hours away from Portland. He would have to make an effort to see her, but only if he wanted to. If he didn't, well, she'd survive. She'd survived Frank and Donald and Scully after all. Not to mention more serious hazards of war. She didn't entirely regret taking all these risks with Hawkeye. She supposed she always would've wondered about him if she hadn't. And there had been some lovely, warm, passionate, even sweet moments. She'd wait until she was home to think about all this, good and bad. For now she needed to concentrate on her driving.

It wasn't until she passed a florist's in Bangor that she remembered what day it was. She pulled over to the side of the road and let herself cry for ten minutes. Then she dried her eyes and drove to the next diner she saw. She ordered a Valentine's brunch, the waffles decorated with strawberries cut up into heart shapes. She could hear Hawkeye in her head, pointing out that these hearts were medically inaccurate. And then he'd probably reel off a dozen song and movie titles with "heart" in them. She chuckled softly, although she still felt like crying.


	24. Mashed

"So, how's Margie?"

His father of course didn't say it leeringly, but Hawkeye still felt like blushing. "She's good. I mean well. I mean she's well."

"Well, good. And how was Lincoln?"

"Nice. It snowed a little but not bad for this time of year."

"Yeah, it's been a mild winter."

"Well, maybe we'll make up for it with a rough spring."

"Maybe. And speaking of the spring, why don't you invite Margie to spend Easter with us?"

Hawkeye had been afraid of this. Hard as it was to have lost Margaret so suddenly, he'd had the whole long, slow drive home to start to process it. He had worried about leading Margaret on emotionally. She'd still fallen for him, even though she knew he hadn't fallen for her. But he had been leading on his father emotionally. Even though he hadn't been gushing about Margaret, he'd invited her to stay in their home and he'd spent time with her in other towns. Perhaps the very fact that he said so little about her had led his father to hope there was more to this than there was. Now he'd have to break a second heart on Valentine's Day.

"Well, uh, I don't think she can make it."

"That's over two months away. Maybe she can. Unless she already has plans?"

Hawkeye set down his fork. He didn't feel much like eating, although he had a very light brunch when he'd stopped at a diner in Medway. "No, Dad, look, it's just not working out."

"You and Margie?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shrugged. He couldn't see himself confiding in Trapper and he wasn't ready to face B.J., even in a letter. And he and his father were close. He just didn't think he'd come off too well in this story.

"We don't have to. You want more mashed potatoes?"

"No thanks. I mean to the potatoes."

"Was it her past?"

Hawkeye snorted and shook his head. He'd written about her liaisons with Frank and the generals in the first year of letters back home. Hot Lips was a figure of fun then, "and what a fun figure," Hawkeye would add Groucho-ly. Gradually, Hawkeye wrote of other sides to her, especially about what a great nurse she was, and eventually what a great friend she was. He never told his dad at the time or later about That Night in the hut with her, but then he didn't kiss and tell much. He just would make general observations about his love life, not naming names.

"Something happened over there, didn't it?"

"In Lincoln? Well, we were there a day and a half."

His father shook his head. "In Korea."

"With me and Margaret?"

"No, with the police action."

There was no question which side Hawkeye got his sarcasm from. His Grandpa Sparky Pierce had been just as much of a wise-ass, although Tombstone Pierce, Sparky's father, apparently had been much more serious. Not that any of these later generations of Pierces were incapable of seriousness but sometimes they had to retreat from it when it got to be too much. It was part of how Hawkeye had survived the war. That and friendship and dumb luck and inertia. But he'd try to be as serious as he could right now, since his dad was willing to try.

"Yeah, we had a moment. Well, more than a moment. A night. But I just didn't think it would work in the long run."

His father nodded. "Yeah, there was some point there, in the middle, where the way you wrote about her changed. Well, it'd been gradually changing anyway. You stopped calling her Hot Lips and made fun of her less, or at least it was more fondly."

"Yeah. And I am fond of her, very fond. But, as she put it, unfortunately, she's in love with me."

"Poor girl."

"Yeah. And she didn't want to tell me but I, well, I joked about us getting married. At a very wrong moment. So she, well, she didn't run out on me. She very methodically, Houlihanly, got dressed, packed her things, gave me a piece of her mind, and her heart, and then left."

"This is some Valentine's Day."

"Yeah. So now I've lost what I had with her, but I can't give her what she wants."

"Which is you being in love with her?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"So how do you know you're not?"

Hawkeye sighed. "Do you remember Carlye Breslin?"

"The woman you almost married? Vaguely."

Hawkeye shook his head. "Well, remember how I had puppy-dog eyes around her? For over a year? And I talked about her all the time. And she got my sense of humor. And she just really got me in general."

"Except not about medicine, even though she was in nursing school."

"Yeah. She didn't want to come second to my profession. Which I understand. I didn't like it, but I understand it."

"Is that what Margaret's asking?"

"God no! I can't count the number of cases we had at the 4077th where she was just as emotionally, and intellectually, invested as I was."

"Maybe you should've made her a job offer instead."

"Dad."

"I'm serious. We can't promise the drama and excitement of Portland of course, but Crabapple Cove has its share of interesting cases."

Hawkeye chuckled. "True." He sighed again. "Anyway, now we're not even friends."

"Give it time. Take a break from each other."

Hawkeye nodded. "OK." That sounded wise, although it wouldn't be easy. Well, he could certainly stay away from her, but he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about her.

"And during that break," his father continued, "I want you to think about what you wanted and want from her. Not just sex, right?"

Hawkeye felt like he was a teenager and his dad was giving him a Talk. "No," he mumbled.

"Also, remember that love comes in many forms." Now his father sounded like Father Mulcahy.

"Uh, OK."

"And you can let Margie know I'd be happy to adopt her."

Hawkeye chuckled. "Great, Dad. Too bad my feelings for her aren't brotherly."

"I know. But she's the kind of woman I wish Sarah had grown up to be."

Hawkeye nodded, suddenly too choked up to say anything. He managed to get some lumpy mashed potatoes past the lump in his throat.


	25. Long Distance

"So how was your weekend?"

Margaret sighed. At least Peg had waited until Friday to call.

Margaret had never really had girlfriends to giggle about boys with. It wasn't just that she'd moved around so much. It was also her unapproachable personality. Even her kid sister had never asked for her advice about boys. Perhaps that was just as well, since Victoria's marriage seemed to have worked out much better than any of Margaret's relationships.

It was different with Peg, who was close to both her sisters and who had always had good female friends. She had taken her friendship with Margaret as natural and inevitable. "It's not like we're strangers. B.J. has told me so much about you." And Peg felt like she knew Hawkeye, too, so her taking an interest in this relationship was natural and inevitable.

Margaret had planned to tell Peg about the weekend, not in any detail of course, in a letter, when she'd worked out what to say. And when she could write calmly and unemotionally. She wasn't ready for this phone call, but she didn't know that she'd ever be ready for it.

"Some of it was lovely," she said softly.

"Some?"

Margaret sighed again. "It's just not working out with us. Hawkeye and I are too different. We want different things."

"Like what?"

Margaret wanted to push Peg away. What was the point in being vulnerable to anyone? The literal meaning of "vulnerable" is "able to be wounded." She was tired of being wounded, especially by people who claimed to care about her.

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure, if you want."

Peg's tone made Margaret feel guilty, realizing that she had hurt her friend without meaning to. She wondered if she should apologize, but she worried that Peg would then expect her to talk about Hawkeye.

"Hey, Honey, is that Margaret?" It was the first time she'd heard B.J.'s voice in seven months. Peg usually called when B.J. was working. Peg would relay his and Margaret's hellos and good wishes.

His voice was warmer and happier than Margaret remembered. She realized the obvious, that he was home with the family he had longed for.

"Yes, it is." Peg's tone sounded back to normal. Had Margaret imagined the hurt?

"Did you tell her?" B.J.'s voice sounded quieter but closer.

"Not now."

"Oh, sorry, did that tickle too much?"

Margaret hadn't heard Peg giggle like he'd tickled her, but maybe she was trying to hold in her laughter because of Margaret. An image popped into Margaret's head of B.J. touching Peg, maybe on the stomach, a sweet, domestic, intimate image. Margaret felt like she was intruding, especially when she heard Peg cover the phone and whisper something to B.J.

She was about to make an excuse to hang up, when she heard B.J. say directly into the phone, "Hi, Margaret."

"Hi, B.J." She hadn't known how much she'd missed him until now.

"So what has that chowderhead done now?"

She had to laugh. "Chowderhead?"

"Well, he's from Maine."

"Oh, right. But don't assume that anyone is to blame. Sometimes things just aren't meant to be."

"Uh huh. It took you two all this time to figure that out?"

It was harder to hold back with B.J. than with Peg. He knew both her and Hawkeye too well. She sighed. "He made a joke proposal." She was definitely not going to tell him about the timing, and not just because of his nickname.

"And you were hoping for a real one?"

"No, I, I know he doesn't think of me that way. But I, well, he didn't know how I felt about him."

"Ah. But now he does." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I had to tell him. It was unfair to both of us for him not to know."

"And what did he say about that?"

"He's very fond of me. I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"Right."

She sighed again. "Of course it hurts. But it's not like I didn't know what Hawkeye is like from the beginning. I knew he wouldn't change."

"Look, Margaret, I know Hawkeye pretty well myself. But sometimes I think he doesn't know himself."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, everyone says that Hawkeye is self-centered. Hell, Hawkeye says it himself. But he has blind spots, you know?"

"Yes."

"And maybe you're one of his blind spots."

"I don't understand."

"I walked in on the picture a few minutes late, so I might've missed part of the set-up before the opening credits, but correct me if I'm wrong on this. For approximately your first year at the 4077th, you two could hardly speak to or of each other without getting at least annoyed and at most boiling mad. Then towards the end of that year, he told you, 'Major, I gotta tell you something. But if you repeat this to anyone, I'll deny it. You are my favorite officer in the whole U.S. Army.' "

"He told you that?"

"No, Klinger did."

"Oh. Well, don't forget that Hawkeye hates the Army, so it was a backhanded compliment."

"Was it? All those nurses he dated were lieutenants. Hell, Trapper was a captain. So was Hawkeye himself. But you were his favorite. Back then."

She felt like crying and didn't know what to say. Visiting that aid station had changed things between them. Hell, even between her and Klinger, who she started to like then. But definitely between her and Hawkeye.

"Of course, he hadn't met me yet."

She laughed. "I love you, B.J.! I mean, you know."

"I know."

There was so much she wanted to say now, but she wasn't sure if Peg was still there in that sunny yellow kitchen that Margaret could picture so clearly. She wished that she and B.J. could sit down and talk freely someday, including about B.J.'s own relationship with Hawkeye. It was clear B.J. loved Hawkeye, and in a smaller way Margaret as well.

"Listen, I've got to go take Erin to the park for kite-flying before the wind dies down. But if you want to talk later, or if you want me to talk or write to Hawkeye, let me know."

"Thank you, but no. Hawkeye and I need a break from all of this. Maybe someday we can at least be friends again. I'd like more, but his friendship is valuable to me in of itself."

"Yeah, despite his blind spots, he's a hell of a friend."

"That he is."

She was just about to say goodbye when something rose to the surface of her brain. "Why did you ask Peg if she'd told me something?"

"Oh, um, it's not important."

"B.J."

He lowered his voice as if Peg weren't in the kitchen but might be in the next room. "I'm really sorry about the timing of this."

"Oh my God, she's pregnant!"

"Yeah, sorry."

"You idiot! That's wonderful!"

"Oh, I know, it is. It's just, well."

"B.J., listen. I have never begrudged you your happy family life. I want this for you. It's one of the things that got not just you but all of us through the war. A baby! That's so wonderful!"

"Thank you. I haven't told, um."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to spill the beans to Hawkeye."

"I know. I'll tell him. Later. And it's early yet so we're not positive, except Peg, she, well, I don't know. Women know."

"Yes," she said quietly, thinking of her pregnancy scare. Sometimes women were wrong, but she had the feeling Peg was right.

"Take care of yourself, Margaret."

"Take care, B.J. And have fun in the park."

"We will."

And then Margaret heard the voice of a two-year-old girl saying something that Margaret translated as "Daddy! Daddy! Look at the kite tail Mommy helped me make!"

"That's beautiful, Sweetheart."

Margaret had to hang up. She was happy for the Hunnicutts, but she couldn't take anymore right then.


	26. Green and Red

_March 4, 1954_

_Dear Margaret,_

_This isn't an apology and it isn't a traditional love letter, although you deserve both. It is, however, a proposal, not of marriage, although not not of marriage. An immodest proposal but not a proposition._

_I love you but I'm not in love with you. I've had time to think about this and that's what I keep coming back to. I've been in love more than once and it was never like this. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Maybe I need to stop comparing this to other loves, because you, Darling, are incomparable._

_Do you know the literal meaning of your first name? It comes from the French via the Greek via the Latin for "pearl." And maybe our love is a pearl, all that irritation producing a gem. I got you under my skin and I got under yours (now in more ways than one), and all those layers of nacre developed. And inside is this shining iridescence._

_("Benjamin," by the way, means "son of my right hand," like my dad had always planned that I would be his junior partner in his country practice. He's a sneaky old geezer!)_

_Anyway, I love you. I don't want to shout it to the world but I can't imagine my life without you. Will you at least be my pen pal?_

_If you don't write back, I'm going to make you a visit in Portland on the first day of Spring. That's the 20th according to the almanac. If you don't want me to visit you, send me a postcard. It'll give Harvey the mailman some free entertainment, which I haven't been able to provide him since I came home. (His name means "blazing iron" or "battle-worthy," but I digress.)_

_Love,_  
_Ben_

It had been almost two weeks since Hawkeye sent her the short letter. He'd gone through a lot of drafts, at one point listing pros and cons of their relationship, but in the end that was what he sent. He hadn't planned the wordplay in the date, but when Harvey picked up the letter, Hawkeye had punned to him about marching forth.

It was now the 17th, St. Patrick's Day. Hawkeye's father put on a green plaid tie when he set out to visit some patients in the country. Hawkeye was staying at home unless there was an emergency. Hawkeye's shorts were green, a pair left over from the Army, but that was just for his own amusement.

This was Wednesday. Hawkeye would drive down to Portland on Saturday if he didn't hear from Margaret by Friday. He was sort of surprised he hadn't at least gotten a "buzz off" postcard, or maybe a lengthy letter detailing why he was right that this was never going to work between them. Something. Maybe she wanted to discuss this in person, but why not say so? There was nothing stopping her from calling him. He knew he could've called her, but the ball was in her court now.

The phone rang. He dashed for it. But it was just a patient saying that the medicine Hawkeye prescribed had worked. That was good news, but it wasn't the good news he wanted.

"Come on, Dr. Pierce," he muttered after he hung up. "What's wrong with you? Medicine comes first, remember?"

And then someone knocked at the front door. He and his dad didn't have an office in town, just an examination room off of the living room. They mostly paid house calls, but some people wanted to be treated at the Craftsman, since it felt more like an official medical visit. Hawkeye hoped this patient would have something not too serious but just interesting enough to distract him from his confusing love life. However, the redhead in jeans and a tight emerald green angora sweater was a different sort of distraction.

"Margaret?"

She smiled. "Happy St. Patrick's Day, Ben."

He felt like a cartoon character, his tongue rolling out of his mouth and hitting the floor, his eyes bulging out of their sockets, and little red medically inaccurate hearts floating above his head. Also, his green Army shorts suddenly felt far too tight.

"You're here? You drove six hours? And it's only noon now!"

"I got an early start."

"If I knew you were coming, I'd have baked a cake," Hawkeye said rather than sang.

She laughed. "Sorry to drop by without calling."

"That's OK. Um, did you bring any luggage I should carry in?"

"It's in the car. I wasn't sure how long I'd be staying."

"As long as you want."

"Well, I have to be back in Portland by Saturday. I have a date that night."

He nodded, then shook his head. "Wait, you want me to go to Portland with you? Or what?"

"Well, I thought you could help me move."

"You're moving?" Hawkeye felt very lost. This reunion didn't match any of the ones he'd imagined.

"You said you can't imagine your life without me. I can't imagine my life without you. So I figured I'd move to Crabapple Cove and cut down on all the driving back and forth. Do you know of any rooms for rent?"

He grinned. "Well, Sarah's room is available."

"She won't mind?"

"Nah, she knows we could use a great nurse around here."

"Good."

"So come on in. Take off your skin. And rattle around in your bones."

Her laughter wasn't as hard as when he sang rather than recited those lyrics to a furious Frank Burns, but then neither of them was drunk now. Just quietly giddy.

He went and got her bag from her car. When he returned, she was gone. It was unlikely that she'd run out on him, especially with her car parked out front. He decided that she'd gone up to Sarah's room on her own. He liked that she was making herself at home. Would she really move in, and under what terms? Well, that was one of the things they had to talk about.

She wasn't in Sarah's room, but he set down her bag. She was probably in the bathroom, especially after her long drive.

When he went back out into the hallway, he noticed that the door to his room was ajar. He went in and saw Margaret sitting on his windowseat, gazing out at the view of Crabapple Cove. The view from Sarah's room was of the woods and the pond.

"Why red hair?" he asked.

She looked at him and smiled. "You seemed to like it at the red party."

He had, and he realized now it made her seem Irish. "Faith and begorrah, you look like a real colleen on this St. Paddy's Day, Maggie O'Houlihan."

She laughed. "And you're not wearing green, Ben."

He came over and sat next to her. "Oh, I am, but you'll have to look for it. You can still pinch me though."

She pinched his cheek, on his face, making him laugh. And then they kissed, a soft, light kiss, as if neither of them could believe that everything was solved and they were getting a happy ending. He wasn't sure what that ending was, other than happy. Maybe it wasn't even an ending, just more of their long middle.

Then he had to ask, "So, uh, how thorough a dye job did you do?"

She played with the lace curtain that his mother had put up twenty-five years ago. "Do you mean does the carpet match the drapes?"

"Well, yeah."

"You'll have to find that out for yourself."

"Your place or mine?"

"Definitely your place."

He didn't ask if that was because Sarah's room was still decorated for a little girl in the late 1920s, although now with a twin-sized bed, or just that his bedroom was more likely to contain condoms. He and Margaret had a lot to ask and tell but right now it was most urgent to find out their true colors.


	27. Hands, Arms, Etc.

They were lying in Hawkeye's bed afterwards, naked in each other's arms. Hawkeye was kissing all over her face and calling her Baby and Darling. Margaret remembered him calling her Darling early on in Korea, but in a condescending way, when she was trying to run a meeting according to procedure. It felt like another life, which it was and it wasn't.

"I have to warn you. Thirty years from now, our sex life won't be this good."

"The infamous Pierce libido will be fading?"

"Yeah. Of course, as long as I have a working tongue, I can satisfy you." She blushed, even more so when he added, "To argue with, My Dear."

"Oh."

"I love to see you blush when you're nude. How pink you get. Now red and pink."

"But someday gray."

"You could dye your hair again. I'm sure they'll still make peroxide in the future."

She tickled him for that. Their laughter was fading out when someone knocked on his bedroom door. She remembered him joking an hour ago, "Don't worry, my folks won't be home for hours." Then he'd confessed that she was the first girl or woman he'd ever done more than neck with in his house. "The Pierce-Arrow however...."

"Maybe we can go for a drive in the country tomorrow," she'd teased.

"Welcome back, Margie," Dr. Daniel Pierce now said through the door.

"Thank you, Sir."

"So are you here to make an honest man of my boy?"

She looked at Hawkeye, whose blue eyes were still twinkling. He nodded.

"Well, I'm going to try."

"Good. Dinner's at six. _Captain Video_ at seven, _Marge and Jeff_ at 7:15, _Coke Time with Eddie Fisher_ at 7:30, _I Married Joan_ at eight, and then of course _My Little Margie_ at 8:30."

"Uh, thank you."

"You're welcome." Then there was the sound of elderly footsteps going along the hallway and down the stairs.

"He's partial to NBC on Wednesdays," Hawkeye whispered, "but he likes making fun of the low budget on _Captain Video_."

"How does he have every night's television schedule memorized?" she whispered back.

Hawkeye shrugged. "He's a doctor. We have incredible powers of memory. Now where were we, uh, tell me your name again, Darling?"

That got him more tickling, although he retaliated this time. When they calmed down, he said, "Did you just ask my father for my hand in marriage?"

She remembered B.J. saying, "Hold on to that arm, Charles, we want to kiss it, too," and Hawkeye adding, "You take the arm. I got dibs on what's left."

"I guess I sort of did. Or he asked me to take you off his hands."

"Except I guess we're all living here."

"We can't ask your father to leave Crabapple Cove."

"You're ready to leave the bright lights of Portland?"

"I already gave my notice at the hospital."

"Before or after you dyed your hair?"

"Before."

"OK. And when is this wedding of ours?"

"During summer reruns, so your father can attend the rehearsal dinner."

"That's very thoughtful of you. A June wedding?"

"Why not?"

"Uh, should we be this casual about things? I mean, I've never done this before."

She shrugged. "Nothing in our relationship has been the way people do things. And I'm less obsessed than I once was about everything being the way I think it should be."

He nodded. "OK. Now let's start planning the honeymoon...."

THE END OF THE MIDDLE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those of you who gave this story kudos, especially the ones who took the time to review. The third story will begin as soon as I figure out a title. (This title was just filler, since I didn't have a particular plan for the story.)


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